


Blurring the Line

by idelthoughts



Series: Getting to Know You [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Lonely Immortal Tropes, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Soul Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a nod toward their unresolved issues, the Doctor invited Jack along to travel with him.  Jack decides it's now or never, but making a move on a Time Lord isn't nearly as straight-forward as he'd hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [The Delicate Art of Babysitting the Slightly Intoxicated](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=40822). If you haven't read it, there was some drunkenness (the Doctor), some flirting (Jack), and some accidental telepathy (both). In a nod toward their unresolved issues, the Doctor invited Jack along to travel with him, and this is where we pick up with our heroes. I'll be honest, there's not a lot of plot herein, but the angst... oh, the angst.
> 
> A big thank you to wishingstar for beta-reading and helping shape this story. I definitely wouldn't have finished this without her extensive help. Thank you, my dear!

Jack finished buttoning his collared shirt and assessed his reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Nodding in satisfaction, he swung the door shut and turned back towards the room.  
  
His old bedroom on the TARDIS was just as he’d left it, though the closet now stocked clothing more to his current tastes. It was fairly Spartan, only a few mementos here and there. He ran his fingers across an old photo of himself at a waterfall, smiling nostalgically. Rose had taken that photo, though try as he might, he couldn’t remember which planet it had been. All he could remember was his amusement at her insistence of using such old technology as a mobile phone camera, then printing it out on actual paper.  
  
He wondered which was the sentimental one, the Doctor or his ship, keeping his room kicking around. He couldn’t imagine the Doctor giving it much thought, so it must be the TARDIS. He gave her a silent thanks.  
  
Jack gave his wristcomp a quick glance, noting it had been about an hour since he’d come aboard. No sign of the Doctor, who’d scurried off without a backward glance, leaving Jack to his own devices. He hadn’t yet deigned to show up, and probably wouldn’t of his own accord. It looked like Jack would have to hunt the Time Lord down himself. He set off for the control room.  
  
Rapidly he ended up turned around and lost. The ship's layout didn't match his memory, as though familiar elements had been tossed about and then laid out again. He wasn’t sure if he misremembered or if things had actually shuffled around in his absence. Glancing up and down the corridor again, he picked a random direction and started walking. The next door he came across turned out to be the sauna. He made a mental note of its location, for later.  
  
After another dozen rooms and endless corridors–no Doctor in sight–Jack located the control room. Unfortunately, it was also empty. He inspected the main console, but no information was helpfully provided on the Doctor’s location.  
  
“Any hints, sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head back and glancing up hopefully. He waited a moment, but the TARDIS was silent. He dropped onto the battered seat by the console. He supposed he’d have to wait for the Doctor to find him–however long that might take.  
  
It bothered him to sit idle like this. Torchwood was a constant rush of activity, one emergency after the next. Even so-called downtime was filled with a myriad of activities–paperwork, inter-agency negotiations, clean-up operations–not to mention dealing with the friction between members of his team. What little time Jack had to himself, he filled with distractions. Well, maybe Ianto was more than a distraction these days, but he did effectively keep Jack from thinking too hard. That was key–not thinking too hard, either about the future or about the past. Not an easy proposition when he found himself wandering the TARDIS alone, beset on all sides by things that evoked long-buried memories, wondering why he was here in the first place.  
  
With an irritated noise, he pushed himself out of the seat and made for the corridor, metal grill clanging under his feet as he went. Might as well explore, if he was going to be left at loose ends.  
  
Why had he agreed to come? If he was brutally honest with himself, he had only agreed because the Doctor had asked. Simple as that–he’d asked. For one tiny little moment, Jack felt like the Doctor needed him, and without thinking, he leapt. Would that reflex ever die?  
  
Jack cracked a door and stuck his head through. No sign of life, but the glossy black grand piano dominating the room caught his attention. He'd wandered into a music room replete with every kind of instrument imaginable.  
  
He idly poked at the gleaming white keys, picking out 'Chopsticks.' All his years and he'd never learned more than that. He had a pretty decent voice and ear for music, all things considered–maybe he should learn. Seemed he suddenly had the time. He released the key ringing under his finger, and the sound was tamped out of existence, leaving an unnerving silence in its place.  
  
Jack closed the lid on the piano and quickly left the room.  
  
The emptiness aboard the TARDIS was disturbing. Surely the Doctor must feel it. Whether he could admit it or not, the Doctor shouldn’t be travelling alone. Especially after everything with the Master, then the Daleks, and God knew what else. Jack shivered at the remembrance of that cold, creeping loneliness pervading the Doctor’s thoughts, a loneliness that had settled into his bones like the damp Cardiff weather. No, he needed companionship, needed to find some nice, energetic young thing to inspire him to travel again.  
  
Jack knew what a fresh face could do for a weary soul–a new set of eyes to see things through, an idealistic outlook to temper weary pessimism. It was the reason he'd brought Gwen into Torchwood, to infuse him and the organization with a new perspective. To find that the Doctor had no one with whom to share the magic of traveling through space and time–it was tantamount to hearing him say there was no magic left to share. Now, if that wasn’t a depressing thought.  
  
Jack wasn’t the person for the job. He was getting a bit jaded in his old age, but maybe he could fill the gap until the Doctor was ready to find someone else. And he had to admit, there were worse places to be than in the Doctor’s company.  
  
Jack turned left down another interminable hallway and found himself in an untended garden. It, too, was empty–just like the storage facilities, workshops, pool room, hall of mirrors, cricket pitch, butterfly room–  
  
_He'd walked around just like this, every day, for the first week on Satellite Five._  
  
Jack quashed the flutter of anxiety that came with that comparison.  
  
The silence was starting to wear on his nerves. Wandering the halls was not sufficiently distracting. Jack made his way to the library in search of refuge.  
  
  
***  
  
Jack stood in the library, running his finger over the spines of books. He needed something to keep his mind from racing in the silence. The titles spanned millennia and galaxies, filling shelves as far as the eye could see, and they scratched an itch he hadn't even noticed was there. Over the past century, he'd grown used to the cultural monotony of a single time and place. No doubt about it: he'd been stuck on Earth too long.  
  
He hooked a finger over the top of one leather-bound volume, pulling it free. It was a fictional retelling of an ancient fairytale, re-imagined to take place in the cosmopolitan background of the 50th century–a classic, in Jack's original time. Boy meets alien being, boy overcomes old-fashioned cultural reservations and family restrictions, boy and being form a bonded unit and live happily ever after. Jack smiled, flipping the pages. He always was a sucker for a love story.  
  
"It is a sweet tale."  
  
Jack snapped the book shut and spun, startled. The Doctor stood inside the doorway behind him–nonchalant, carefully casual, peering over heavy-rimmed glasses that rode low on his nose. He had changed from his usual brown into a blue suit, a light blue shirt and maroon tie, with maroon trainers to complete the sartorial ensemble. He looked significantly more composed than the last time Jack had seen him.  
  
"I must be slipping. I didn't hear you come in." Jack set the book on a nearby table and looked the Doctor over. "How are you feeling?"  
  
The Doctor looked at him strangely, pulling the glasses from his face and tucking them away in a pocket. "Feeling?" He cocked his head, then his mouth formed a silent _ah_. "The intoxication–yes, fine, thanks. Excellent metabolism, efficient recovery times." His gaze dropped briefly to his feet, then returned to Jack. "No hangovers."  
  
Jack pursed his lips and nodded, hands on hips. "Lucky man."  
  
The Doctor stepped into the room, but stopped a few feet from Jack with a slight shudder.  
  
Ah, the flinch. Jack’s smile crystallized. It was amazing how that little reaction still stung.  
  
The Doctor shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, widened his stance, and squared his shoulders subtly as if bracing himself against the wind. Looking determined, he relaxed his shoulders marginally and spoke again. "Choosing reading material?" He nodded towards the book Jack had left on the table. "Wouldn't have guessed you for the romance novel type."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow, covering his discomfort with the wry expression. "Really?"  
  
"Well, I suppose it is a classic," he conceded, shrugging. "Now Rose, she used to love a good romance. I now have an entire shelf devoted to tawdry bodice-rippers of the 21st century, thanks to her."  
  
Jack chuckled, and the finally Doctor cracked a genuine smile himself. The fond memories melted the tension between them a little. He hadn't seen this Doctor smile much–manic, wild grins, yes. An honest, happy smile, no. It was a good look for him, Jack reflected. Maybe it came from seeing Rose again. But Rose wasn't here, was she?  
  
"You took her home, didn’t you."  
  
The smile shifted, turning falsely cheerful. "Yep! She's home. Back in the other universe, with all the zeppelins. And Pete and Jackie. And me, of course. Whole big family."  
  
"You?"  
  
The Doctor shrugged. "You know, the other me. Well, my hand. Well, the human metacrisis clone that came from my hand. Handy thing to have around, a spare hand. Suppose we could call him that. Handy the Hand."  
  
He snorted. "Handy. I like that." Jack knew a dodge when he saw one, but he also knew the importance of choosing his battles.  
  
"Seems apropos," the Doctor agreed.  
  
"Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye properly, then. Me and that hand had some good times." Jack winked and grinned.  
  
"Oh, I _so_ don't want to know." The Doctor rolled his eyes, but a corner of his mouth twitched.  
  
"You sure about that?" Jack teased, enjoying the familiar flutter of adrenaline that flirting with the Doctor always caused him. God, he had missed this.  
  
“I’m sure that even my severed hand knows how to maintain a sense of decorum around you, Captain.” The Doctor was definitely fighting off a smile now.  
  
Jack hit the invisible boundary between them and hesitated. This was the point where the flirting usually stopped. Jack said something outrageous, and the Doctor rebuffed him with a joke or sarcastic comment. It was comfortable territory, and it would be easy to follow the scripted routine. Accept the deflection and ask _so where to next, Doctor?_ , and everything would slot into place as it always did.  
  
The Doctor's lips tilted into a small, provocative smirk–and dammit, Jack was having too much fun to let that pass. Wander off for what, five hours, then turn up like nothing had happened? No, the Doctor deserved a hard time. So much the better if Jack got to have a little fun while dishing it out.  
  
The Doctor’s tie hung slightly off-centre. Jack had noticed it earlier and suppressed the urge to tweak it into place without any real conscious thought. He straightened it now, smoothing the cloth, letting his fingers trail down the fabric of the Doctor's shirt. “What’s life if you can’t lose your decorum once in a while?” he asked, pitching his voice deep and leaning hard into his accent, waiting with a mix of anticipation and trepidation for the Doctor's outraged response.  
  
The Doctor swallowed, and his lips parted slightly. He didn't speak. At the shift in the Doctor's expression, a thousand images flitted through Jack’s mind, from a slow, lingering kiss to pinning the Doctor to the bookcase, or even… He drew a quick breath. This was a good deal farther than he'd meant to go. He clamped down firmly on his wayward thoughts, sending the images scattering, and mustered a bright grin.  
  
"Sorry, fashion violation," he quipped, giving the Doctor's tie a final tug, accidentally pulling it askew again in his haste to back off.  
  
The Doctor reached up to repair the damage at the same time that Jack pulled away, and their fingers brushed in midair. The moment their skin made contact, Jack felt a disorienting jolt. Time slowed to a languid pace as a pleasant flush of warmth and affection washed through him, indistinct and fuzzy, tinged with attraction and an undercurrent of fond exasperation that seemed out of place–  
  
Oh. _Oh._ This was the Doctor’s… thing. A subtler version of what had happened in Cardiff, when he'd been momentarily swamped with the other man's emotions. Whether he meant to or not, the Doctor was broadcasting. Which meant this warm, wonderful feeling wasn’t his, but the Doctor’s. Oh. He couldn’t help examining it, tasting weighing, following it deeper. Companionship, enjoyment, humour– _Jack, with his stupid flirting and silly grin and of course he knows exactly how–_  
  
Jack pulled back a hair's breadth, aware that he'd intruded, ashamed at the surprise he felt. So the Doctor cared for him. Surely he'd known that already.  
  
Did he, though? Had he ever known where he stood with the Doctor? Did he care about Jack out of friendship, or was it more a sense of responsibility for what had happened to him? The feelings rolling over him were beyond simple descriptors like friendship or love, but it was strong and warm, and more importantly, honest.  
  
Jack opened his eyes to find the Doctor watching him, one corner of his mouth curled up, looking unguarded and deceptively young. His hand still hovered in mid-air, but the Doctor had wrapped his fingers around Jack’s in a feather-light touch. A jolt of attraction hit him, which reflected on the Doctor’s face and in his slow exhale, and Jack realized that this connection was a two-way street–the Doctor was experiencing Jack’s emotional state as well. Clearly responding to it, too. Experimentally he conjured up a cartoonishly lewd act he’d love to do to the Doctor, and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow and a chuckle, not to mention a swell of _humourindulgencedoyourworst_.  
  
If there was one thing Jack couldn’t resist, it was a dare.  
  
He twisted his hand and interlaced their fingers, raising one eyebrow, calling out a silent challenge. He was leaving himself open to the Doctor’s fickleness, but he’d come this far and now he was dying to see where this gamble would lead him. His heart thudded as he waited for the Doctor’s answering volley.  
  
The Doctor wiggled his fingers between Jack’s as though considering his options, but it was clearly for show. The Doctor’s playfulness skipped pleasantly along Jack’s nerves even while his mouth was set in stern reflection. He glanced up at Jack, back to their hands, and then closed his eyes.  
  
_Anticipation, thrill of the chase, anxiety_ –it swept over Jack, but this time Jack caught the edge of eddies and currents flowing beneath the surface, darker and stronger. The memory of the overwhelming nature of their previous encounter in Cardiff sent a burst of adrenaline through his system, but Jack hastily shoved it away. Not quickly enough to avoid the Doctor’s notice, however. The Doctor frowned when he caught the little shudder of fear. He opened his eyes and squeezed Jack’s fingers.  
  
“All right?” the Doctor asked.  
  
Jack cleared his throat, nodding. “Yeah. Of course.” Jack focused, determined to keep his head in this little game. He concentrated and drummed up an image; a carnival, with rides and midway lights and raucous music, with Jack as the ticket taker at the gates. For good measure he strung a giant banner across the front that read _Welcome Doctor!_ , and pasted a handlebar mustache across his self-image. There–something light and silly to ease his nerves.  
  
The Doctor burst into laughter, and a warm current flowed across the image, washing away the mustache and replacing it with a hat and an old-fashioned megaphone cone. Jack reeled under the power of the shift, shaken at how easily his mental landscape changed at the Doctor’s whim, but he managed to regain his footing. He was long out of practice for any significant telepathic contact, but he was ridiculously pleased with his success thus far. Even so, it ran the edge between thrill and terror, pushing his mental senses to maximum effort.  
  
In the silent reality of the TARDIS library, the Doctor chewed on his bottom lip as he studied Jack, and for a moment Jack worried that the Doctor would choose this point to back away. Instead, he brought his free hand up to Jack’s temple and hovered without touching, asking the question silently. Jack gave a nod, and fingers settled on his face.  
  
The Doctor’s presence rose to a painful swell, vast and impossible. It wiped away Jack’s carnival imagery, but then faded into a gentle roar as the Doctor settled in Jack’s mind.  
  
_Easier with access to the correct nerve endings. Clearer, more control._  
  
He could still feel the Doctor in his head, but the hard and exciting edge of their playful game was gone, the wash of emotion dulled and muted. Perhaps the Doctor was being more cautious with him. He had to admit this was easier to bear, but it also smacked of the Doctor setting him at an arm’s length. Jack craved the honesty of the instinctual contact, and was far more interested in seeing of the man he’d glimpsed beneath the controlled façade.  
  
An image flashed. The carnival again; a child racing at breakneck pace, eyes dazzled with the rides and whizzing lights, scrabbling to get at the rickety rollercoaster with peaks that soared above the clouds, and a doting adult gently shuffling them along towards safer activities.  
  
Jack winced. Did the Doctor think he was a child?  
  
A note of weary amusement flavoured the hum of the Doctor’s thoughts. _No, of course not._  
  
Jack scrambled to shutter his private thoughts, embarrassed that he hadn’t done so before. Damn, he was really out of practice at this. His face grew hot under the Doctor’s fingertips and he shifted his weight. “Sorry,” he muttered.  
  
A hint of mirth. _Your doors are literal. TARDIS-shaped, blue._  
  
An image appeared in his mind of a free-standing version of the TARDIS doors, little white sign and all. He smiled, a little sheepish. While he couldn’t articulate in the clear manner the Doctor did, his attitude of _whatever works_ translated well enough.  
  
The Doctor smiled at him, the stern lines of his face relaxing into an easy, affectionate grin. Jack answered with a silly grin of his own, and he giggled loudly. He was giddy, awash with fondness and affection and his embarrassment was melting away. Oh, that smile–this is what Jack loved best about the Doctor. Every once in a while, the Doctor’s cares, worries, costumes, and masks would fall away; you could glimpse the childish, happy man that lurked beneath. The Doctor was so beautiful like this. Jack had never kissed these lips, but he could imagine what it would feel like to have the Doctor’s soft skin pressed against his. In fact, it was getting difficult to keep his hands to himself, with the Doctor just inches away, touching him–  
  
The Doctor rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk on his face. _Sympathetic endocrine reaction–unfamiliar telepathic stimulus interpreted via physiological response. Everything comes back to sex with humans, doesn’t it?_  
  
Not Jack’s fault, what with standing close enough to the Doctor that Jack could smell him and see the pulse beating beneath the skin of his neck. He could study each individual eyelash and freckle, given enough time. He wanted more than just the cool press of fingers at his temple, and his mind drifted to thoughts fueled by his libido, far beyond the realm of conscious thought, as he stared into the Doctor’s eyes. By the time Jack’s mind caught up with his body again, his hands were closed around the Doctor’s wrists, thumbs stroking the soft skin on the underside, slipping beneath the loose cuffs of the Doctor’s shirt with each pass, and the Doctor’s confident smirk had disappeared.  
  
The Doctor’s eyes flickered over Jack, and his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. A tentative mental caress mirrored Jack’s gesture, intensifying the heat that filled Jack’s head and body, evaporating his control and restraint. Suddenly, standing here poised at the ends of the Doctor’s fingertips was not nearly enough.  
  
Jack slid his hands along the Doctor’s arms to the lapels of his jacket, the cotton rough beneath his palms. Jack noticed the skewed tie, which had been left as a lost cause, and his fingers detoured to trace the vee of his open collar. He slipped his thumb over the hollow at the base of the Doctor’s neck. The action sparked a deep shudder, a strange and unexpected mixture of desire and shame, which ran through the Doctor and flowed back into Jack with a desperate kick that hit him low and hard.  
  
Through his deepening haze, Jack could sense shadow and whispers of deeper thoughts. This was something dirty and wrong, yet wanted and needed, and _he should probably stop, he really, really should–_  
  
Jack’s fingers froze in the confusion of the conflicting messages, but a silent plea and loaned muscle memory set his fingers moving again before he’d had a chance to register the flip-flopping intentions and messages. He settled his fingers into the mirror image of the Doctor’s hold, and the Doctor’s eyes fell closed as his jaw loosened.  
  
_Jack…_  
  
The connection broke the dam, and Jack was buried. The shadows Jack had sensed swirled and rose, spinning him around and wrapping him tightly in a confused storm of too many thoughts and feelings to name, and he sunk under the weight of it. The library, the Doctor, and his own body faded away, and in their place a spark shimmered and a thread uncurled, winding its way toward him. It was a bright and steady beacon, a promise, a pathway out of the storm. He instinctively reached out for it, touching–  
  
_–emptiness–a searing flash–bright, burning light, stretching forever –nothing–lost and alone–_  
  
Black.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack’s teeth rattled, and he gasped.  
  
He shook again, or was shaken, rather, and his attention snapped onto a tight, urgent expression. The Doctor. Thank god, a familiar face. He’d been alone, and lost, and…  
  
No, he hadn’t. He’d been with the Doctor in the TARDIS. He’d been here all along. Hadn’t he?  
  
“Jack!” The Doctor gave him another urgent shake. “Jack, talk to me!”  
  
Jack’s head whirled with a surplus of activity, resulting in a distracting buzz. He tried to focus on the Doctor’s words, but his brain was misfiring onto random subjects and images. He looked around at the library, latching onto familiar sights and sounds, trying to pull himself out of the confusing jumble in his head.  
  
The Doctor grabbed his chin and forced his attention back, eyes filled with worry. “I need to know you’re in there. Jack, say something. Anything.”   
  
“I–I’m…” He wanted to answer, but his mind was humming, thwarting his efforts to marshal any sort of lucid response. His ricocheting thoughts wouldn’t stop long enough for him to settle on one, and he stuttered uselessly again, overwhelmed by sharp panic. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know…”  
  
A strong hand slipped around the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. He struggled to control his breathing, focusing on the relaxing press of the Doctor’s fingers. Eventually he brought his cartwheeling thoughts and emotions into line, and he was finally able to raise his head and draw a proper breath.  
  
The Doctor inspected him closely. “Better now?”  
  
“Yeah, fine,” he managed. “My god, what was that? Is that–is that normal?” The Doctor’s mind packed quite a kick. One expected the odd sprained muscle or unexpected injury on the road of interspecies relations, but this was the first time his entire nervous system had pitched a wobbly.  
  
The Doctor pushed him back towards the chesterfield and urged him to sit. He squatted in front of Jack, expression inscrutable, hands resting on Jack’s shoulders as he peered into Jack’s face. “It shouldn’t have happened.”  
  
“Oh.” Jack swallowed to try and regain his voice. “Okay. Where did we go wrong?”  
  
The Doctor looked away, dropping his hands. “I was an idiot. I’m sorry.” He stood. “I think we should forget this.”  
  
“Wait, why? What happened?” He reached out for the Doctor’s hand, but it was jerked out of his reach. Jack pulled back, stung. “I didn’t mean to— “  
  
“Jack, stop.” The Doctor stood quickly, turning away. “It’s nothing you did - not your fault. I mean it’s really, really not.” He blew out an unsteady breath. “I can’t do this.”  
  
Jack got to his feet, uneasy at the Doctor’s stonewalling. “I’m fine, you know. That was a bit… okay, it was a lot overwhelming, but before that it was good.” He offered a faint smile. “Great, actually.”  
  
The Doctor tugged at one ear, still avoiding Jack’s eye, and backed away further. “I should go.”   
  
“You don’t have to.”  
  
The Doctor waved his hand aimlessly. “I have things to do. Repairs and such.”  
  
Jack blinked, taken aback at the feeble excuse. “Repairs. You’ve gotta be kidding.”  
  
The Doctor gave him a pained look, as though begging him to leave off and let him escape in peace. Jack had no idea what to say, and the Doctor took advantage of his lapse to turn and flee the library without looking back. Jack was left vulnerable and stripped bare with nothing but a blur in his mind, a flash in which everything had gone wrong.  
  
It should have been old hat to have the Doctor turn and run when Jack needed him. That’s what he did, wasn’t it?  
  
“It’s really getting old, Doc,” he said to no one.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The Doctor fled for the comfort and safety of the console room, his head throbbing from the recent contact and the whirl of his own thoughts. This had gone far beyond indulging his loneliness and Jack’s raging hormones. Much, much too far.  
  
The incident in Cardiff had aggravated the gaping hole in his mind, and after Jack agreed to come along–why did he offer, why would he do something so stupid? –he couldn’t think about anything other than feeling another presence in his mind again. He’d removed himself to let the ridiculous urge pass, but instead he ended up arguing himself round to the idea that he was justified in taking what companionship Jack was willing to offer, even if it was more than pleasant conversation and company in his travels.   
  
He’d keep it light and inconsequential. Something shallow to soothe his mind. No harm, he’d told himself. Instead, he’d instinctively offered Jack a deep connection far beyond Jack’s capabilities. How could have been so careless?  
  
If he weren’t so shamefully desperate, it wouldn’t have happened.  
  
The Doctor took the stairs in one stride, and the seat by the console creaked and groaned as he threw himself into it. He leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands, allowed the reassuring thrum of the TARDIS to soothe him as it travelled through his bones. He should meditate, or something. Well, that was a laugh. Couldn't recall the last time he'd meditated. He rubbed a finger rhythmically across his brow, trying to ease the ache. He needed to collect himself and give himself a chance to think clearly.   
  
He rubbed harder at his forehead, then let his fingers drift down one side of his face, across his cheek, back again, creeping toward his hairline. His other hand came up of its own accord, mirroring the first, both of them stroking and massaging his temples, trying to reach the aching void behind his eyes. He needed that, needed something–needed–hands raked his scalp, grasping hair by the roots, tweaking and pulling until the pain made his eyes water. He relaxed his grip and dragged his palms back down over his face, imagining the warmth of human fingers, remembering the pressure of Jack's mind against his, seeking entrance; Jack, the way he _touched_ –  
  
_Stop. Stop! Enough!_ The Doctor clenched his hands tightly, folding his arms and letting his head drop forward against the edge of the console. He had to pull himself together. He was going to pieces like an Academy Initiate, all wibbly and giddy and desperate. It was worse than the first time he and Koschei–  
  
No. He refused to draw that parallel. But even as he stamped sharply on the thought, he skipped to the neat bookend of that first memory–his last days with the Master.  
  
_What have you become, Doctor? the Master taunted, whispering wordlessly. With no one to see you, to name you? Just handshakes and smiles now, Doctor. Is it enough? How can you stand it, with no one in the universe truly knowing who you are?  
  
I know who I am, he replied.  
  
It was more self-assurance than rebuttal. Despite his protests, he knew he would give in. He could try to refuse the Master, but he desperately needed this mental contact, something he thought had died with Gallifrey. He hadn't had such an opportunity since his eighth regeneration, and his ninth and tenth selves had felt the eerie disconnect. How badly could he forget himself?  
  
The Master laughed at him. But you have forgotten–I can see you. Poor Doctor. So very, very lonely.  
  
The Master could turn anything into a weapon. Mental contact was a ritual of affirmation. It should have been peaceful and restoring, but in the Master’s hands it became part pleasure and part torture, equal parts lovers' embrace and grappling match.   
  
The Doctor relished every second of it. He wondered what it said about him that he didn't mind the corruption.   
  
Who would he be without this?_  
  
He felt a sick thrill shoot through him at the memory. He was a mess, a right mess, to find pleasure in that twisted dance. He and the Master, they’d deserved each other. No one else could possibly deserve the shambles that was the state of his psyche.   
  
But Jack’s tempting warmth and sweet offer, then the clumsy brush against him in the library– _admit it, you left yourself open hoping something would happen_ –had been endearing and enticing, and he’d gone with it, enjoying Jack’s curiosity, the simplicity of the childish game of pictures, the companionship in Jack’s touch, the heat of his hand, the soft brush of Jack's skin against his own, Jack’s hands sliding along his body, his neck–  
  
The Doctor fidgeted, trying to shake off the distinctly physical twist his thoughts were taking, but he was having a difficult time dismissing the troubling images. Had to be some odd echo of Jack’s human compulsions, a bit of blowback from their contact. It would fade if he ignored it.  
  
He rubbed at his forehead again, wishing the headache would subside and leave him more room to think. His mind was replaying the incident, over and over, twisting it, imagining that Jack had grabbed fierce hold of him, dragging him down to the deepest levels of contact, mind shot through with that driven, hungry humanity, pouring into him, filling him–  
  
“Oh for pity’s sake!” he hissed aloud, thumping a fist against his forehead, “get a hold of yourself!” He was behaving like a bloody teenager, entertaining impossible–not to mention deviant–fantasies. He was not human, Jack was not Gallifreyan, and that was that. He yanked at his collar, uncomfortably clammy with sweat, loosening his tie and the top button of his shirt.  
  
Footsteps behind him jarred him out of his thoughts, and he leapt off the seat, whirling around. Jack stopped at the top of the stairs, looking at him cautiously.   
  
The Doctor felt his mouth go dry. He was at a loss for words. Surely there was something right to say in a situation like this. Something simple and straightforward that would let them clear the air and move on without a backward glance. ‘Course, he might first owe Jack a small apology for accidentally scrambling his cerebral cortex, but he’d keep that brief and then they could put this behind him and forget about it.   
  
“Doctor,” Jack said, giving him a slight nod of greeting. His eyes flicked to the Doctor's throat, causing the Doctor to wish fervently that he'd left his tie in a presentable condition.  
  
“Jack,” he said, voice cracking. Start there, wing the rest. He cleared his throat. “Um…” he said intelligently.  
  
Okay, less than auspicious start.  
  
Jack drew a deep breath, looking away from him. “Look, Doctor. I’ve been thinking–“  
  
He knew that tone. That was the _party’s over, it’s time to go home_ tone. Martha had given him that tone. Tegan had rarely spoken to him in any other way. He should say something, and quick. Something to clear the air. He’d think of it any second. Now would be ideal, before Jack said another word.   
  
“Something’s cropped up, and I need a spare pair of hands,” he blurted.   
  
Jack paused. “What?”   
  
“Failure in the frequency regulator, if you can believe it.” He casually reached over and flicked a switch, which overloaded one of the six resistors in the regulator system. He covered the faint pop with shuffling footsteps on the metal grate. “Two-person job. I’m lucky you’re here.” He gave Jack a pleasant smile.  
  
“I see,” Jack said slowly. He still hadn’t moved from the top of the stairs.  
  
“Brilliant!” He knelt down, pulling off a grill under the control console rattling away as he worked. “If you can get under here, I can run the system checks from up here. We’ve got to check all six resistors, find out which ones have gone. Best check them all. I can’t tell from here if it’s just one, or several.”   
  
He dropped the grill with a clang, turning to face Jack and indicating the access hatch with a sweeping flourish of his arm. When Jack didn’t come any closer, he gave his fingers a hopeful wiggle, arm still extended.  
  
With a shake of his head, Jack unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling up his sleeves. The Doctor grinned brightly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the reprieve. Jack gave the Doctor one last dark look as knelt down to scoot under the console.   
  
“There’s a good lad,” he said, giving Jack an encouraging smile before he turned away to get the appropriate tools. He pulled open one of the floor storage compartments and hopped in, rooting around. He dragged out a well-used box of equipment, hauled it over to Jack and crouched to push it into the access hatch next to him.  
  
Jack lay on his back, legs stretching out from the guts of the console. He lifted his head and looked down the length of his body to the Doctor at his feet. “You never call me that anymore,” he said.  
  
Unsure what to say, the Doctor settled for giving Jack’s leg a friendly pat. He stood and took up the diagnostic station at the console, booting up the regulator system checks he would run as Jack disassembled and reassembled the regulators.   
  
There. That would keep Jack busy for a while and give the Doctor time to think. He just needed to figure out what to say to put things back to normal.  
  
He wondered how many systems he could sabotage before Jack got suspicious.  
  
They quickly fell into an easy routine, one they’d established when Jack had travelled with him. Jack had a natural knack for working on the TARDIS, and they’d always worked well together. The Doctor leaned against the console, performing the diagnostics by rote as his mind ticked over.  
  
He gave an affirmative reply when Jack asked him to run the first check. The scan ticked away until it beeped a loud positive result on the intact resistor. He glanced over at the legs poking out from under the console, saw him scoot a little farther in to reach as he reattached the casing.   
  
He owed Jack something. He should try, at least. “Jack,” he started.   
  
“Yeah?” came the reply, accompanied by the muffled clanking of metal on metal as Jack worked the casing off the second resistor.  
  
_I’m sorry I hurt you. Really didn't mean it. I’m sorry I left you. But no harm done, right? You can give me another chance. It was just a minor slip in morals and judgment, and it’s all sorted now! Please give me another chance?_ He clamped his mouth shut as the words crowded over each other and died in his throat. He said nothing.  
  
The noise from beneath the console had stopped. There was a long stretch of silence. He peered over the edge with a frown. “You all right in there, Jack?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Yes, well. Good.”   
  
There was a muffled response that he couldn’t make out, and the clanking resumed, perhaps a tad more forcefully.   
  
As they worked, the Doctor kept catching himself unconsciously thinning his shields, pressing against them in an effort to reach out to Jack. After the third time he caught himself, he wondered where the harm was in it lay. He wasn’t in physical contact with Jack. It wouldn’t hurt Jack. There’d be no chance of initiating contact, and Jack likely wouldn’t notice it at all. He was just looking, after all. It’d be just like warming his hands at a fire–comforting for him and harmless for Jack. Surely that was fine?  
  
He edged nearer again, squinting at the painful brightness of Jack’s presence, letting his senses adjust until he could feel the warm buzz of the mind beneath. He sighed, eyes sliding closed as the ache in his head finally eased off. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something, at least. Jack’s presence had an edge to it this time, acrid but no less welcome. Confusion mixed with caring, frustration, concentration–  
  
The Doctor jumped when a hand brushed his arm, and he spun to find Jack standing next to him, dirty from dust and grease, a burnt-out resistor clutched in one hand. Concern was written across his features. “Doctor? What is it?”  
  
He schooled his expression to neutral. “Nothing.”  
  
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”  
  
“Well, probably nothing, I mean,” he hedged.   
  
Jack met his gaze, and he froze in place. God, he still wanted Jack. All he had to do was reach out to him, push into those comforting, tingling thoughts…  
  
Jack moved closer, close enough to touch. “Doctor, I–“   
  
No. No no no, he couldn’t. It was impossible, irrational, irresponsible, and a lot of other of adjectives beginning with ‘i’.   
  
The motion was reflexive. His hand shot out to the materialization switch, almost acting independent of the rest of his body. “Let’s see if she’s in working order then, eh? Short trip, shake the kinks out!” He skittered away from Jack and reached for the secondary materialization lever, slamming it into place. “Let’s go somewhere fun!” The TARDIS lurched sickeningly, displeased with the rough handling. The Doctor muttered a swift apology under his breath, clinging to the edge of the console as she bucked and rolled.   
  
Jack’s eyes widened in alarm, and his hand swept out to latch onto the nearest thing available to him. He made a grab for the console, missed, and tumbled backwards to land hard against the railing behind him. “Guess it wasn’t nothing, then?” he grit out, arm wrapped securely around the top metal rail as the TARDIS banged about.  
  
“Just hang on!” the Doctor shot back. This would be a rough one, flung out of the Vortex without any preparation. The TARDIS was clearly displeased, and fought his direction. At this point they were more at her mercy than that of his piloting. Still, it was kind of fun. He steered the ship hard through the transition into realspace, whooping at the challenge, manufactured or not.  
  
With a final resounding crash–they materialized a foot above ground before dropping into place–they landed. He shot a wide grin over his shoulder at Jack, but he looked distinctly unimpressed. The Doctor sniffed, slightly disappointed. That had been a rather fine bit of piloting. Jack, if anyone, should appreciate that.  
  
However, Jack seemed less distractible than other travelling companions he’d had in the past. Even Donna, with her determined, no-nonsense directness, would have been good for a ten-minute screeching lecture on his piloting and landing skills at this point. That would have given him plenty of tangents to leap off. Instead, Jack was giving him a painfully knowing look of disapproval.  
  
Before Jack could speak, the Doctor clapped his hands together loudly. “Well, we’re definitely somewhere–let’s have a look, shall we? Allons-y!” he chirped. He spun and hopped down the stairs to the outer doors, opened one a crack and stuck his head outside.   
  
A wall of damp, humid air, rich with carbon dioxide and noxious-smelling gases, assaulted him. Walls of dense, green jungle plant life towered on all sides. He breathed in deep, analysing the composition of the atmosphere. Elevated CO2 levels and a sulfurous bite stung the back of his throat... His mood soured. He returned to the console and checked the external sensor scan, tapping at the readout.   
  
Damn his moody ship. She’d done this on purpose, he’d swear to it. How hard could it be to land them somewhere populated, with shiny cities and pretty people to distract Jack?  
  
Jack folded his arms. " Where are we?" he asked, coming up to peer at the scanner, then past the column to the open door beyond.   
  
"Prehistoric Earth," the Doctor answered, standing back from the console, glaring up at the central column. "Jurassic period, if I don't miss my guess." He pulled off his glasses, tucking them into his pocket with more force than was strictly necessary. Not a thing out there but swamp as far as the eye could see.   
  
"Well, that's…fun," Jack said, raising an eyebrow. "Why here?" He leaned across the Doctor to call up the external camera and angle the display screen towards him. A bare forearm brushed against the sleeve of the Doctor's jacket.   
  
The Doctor felt Jack's body heat through the thin fabric, and the brief touch was enough to arrest his concentration. A magnetic tug made his fingers twitch of their own accord, and he reflexively leaned his mind against Jack's, feeling the buzz of passing thoughts, the lilt of emotions, the possibility of connection…   
  
His cheeks flush and turned his head away to hide his reaction. What was wrong with him?  
  
Before he could succumb to any further temptation, he spun away to grab up his long coat from the coral strut he'd thrown it over, masking his lapse with false good humour as he tossed it on and made for the outer doors. "Come on! Let's go check out the wildlife!"  
  
He flung the door wide with bravado and strode out, not waiting to see if Jack was following. Jack would catch up, and he could use the chance to collect himself.  
  
"Dinosaurs, Captain! Who doesn't love dinosaurs?"   
  
  
***  
  
  
"Dinosaurs. I hate dinosaurs," the Doctor gasped.  
  
Jack and the Doctor lay panting on the gang ramp inside the TARDIS control room, staring at the outer doors, which rattled under a vicious assault. Screeching cries were muffled but audible through the barrier, mixing with the sounds of their harsh breathing.  
  
"They're going to scratch the paint," Jack said between enormous breaths. "She's not gonna like that."  
  
The Doctor sat up and nodded his agreement, then tugged at the newly ragged hem of his coat. "Aw, look at my coat. I love this coat! Now look at it!" Sharp claws and teeth had ripped holes in the fabric. He shook it at Jack, who was still lying on his back, chest heaving.  
  
Jack batted it away, glaring up at him. "The dinosaurs weren't my idea," he snapped. "Be glad it was your coat and not your leg."  
  
He fingered the coat, sizing up the tear. "I've got a dermal regenerator for my leg. It's a lot easier to use than the refabricator. You know how long it takes to repair damage in a heavy weave like this?" He took off the long coat and threw it over the arch, making his way to the console.  
  
"It's your own fault. Seriously, who crawls into the nest of a carnivorous species?" Jack demanded, sitting up and examining the nip and scratch marks on his coat–nowhere near as serious, the Doctor noted sourly.   
  
"An entire clutch of eggs, ready to hatch? Too good to pass up. And I read that Europasaurus was herbivorous–got that one wrong, didn't they? Going to have to have to drop in and have a word with some archeologists." He shook his head, resetting the navigational controls. "Never trust an archeologist, Jack. Nothing but voodoo, the lot of it."  
  
"I think you mean paleontologist," Jack grumbled. "As they're the ones who study dinosaurs."  
  
"I'll have a word with them, too." The Doctor flipped the dematerialization switch, and the sounds of screeching and scrabbling at the door faded under the familiar grinding sound of the TARDIS engines.   
  
Jack carefully dusted off his trousers and shirt and adjusted his braces. Glancing up, the Doctor noticed him running his hands along his legs, the curve of his backside, over his chest–the Doctor cleared his throat and quickly looked back down at the console. That was not on. He certainly wasn’t about to start ogling Jack, lusting after him like some… _human._  
  
Jack joined him at the console, still looking chagrined at their fleeting adventure. He adjusted the course computer, programming it for specific coordinates this time–no more letting his ship ambush him with boring times and locations as punishment. She was far too opinionated on corporeal matters for a creature that barely existed in this dimension.   
  
Slowly, he became aware of the fact that Jack was glaring at him. "What?" he asked innocently, tucking the screwdriver away and turning back to the console.  
  
"What do you mean, 'what'?’ Jack’s tone was cool and unforgiving.   
  
He looked away quickly. "Y’know, you should probably scan yourself in the infirmary, make sure you didn't pick up anything icky in the swamp. Nasty bacteria out there." He jabbed at the console, toggling the hot water switch to the kitchen boiler. Handy switch, that. Looked big and impressive, great for toggling and looking busy. "Or dino-rabies. Never can be too careful."  
  
Jack leaned forward, getting into his personal space. “Or maybe you’ve got more ‘repairs’ that need doing?” he said sharply. “Or perhaps there’s some vital plant life we forgot to inspect outside.”  
  
The Doctor toggled the switch again in the hopes he'd look busy enough for Jack to leave him alone, but Jack just kept on staring uncomfortably. When had he become so annoyingly persistent? The Doctor didn’t look at him, feigning indifference. “Nope, nada. Good time to catch a shower. You smell like primordial ooze.”   
  
“For Christ’s sake!” Jack growled, and the Doctor finally turned to regard him with a raised brow. “You could at least have the decency to acknowledge that you’re ignoring me!”  
  
That jab landed, and the Doctor winced. “Right.” He cast about for something to say, finally deciding on the most obvious. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Don’t pretend you care now.” Jack’s words were bitter and unpleasant.  
  
The Doctor rocked back on heels with the force of Jack’s venom. That wasn’t what he’d intended. He just wanted to forget it and move on, not make Jack think… He stared down at the console, uncertain what to do or say. Swallowing his pride with a deep breath, he met Jack’s eyes. “Jack, I care. Whatever else you think, fine, maybe you’re right, but–I really do care.”   
  
Jack had crossed his arms tightly, but his guarded anger had faded into something more complex. “These things tend to work better with a little communication, you know.”  
  
“They don’t work at all, Jack–that’s the point!” The Doctor found he couldn’t meet Jack’s eye any longer. It hadn’t been anything but a misguided experiment borne of loneliness and desperation, and one doomed to failure from the beginning, if he’d stopped to give it half a serious thought. Why he’d talked himself into this in the first place–  
  
Jack cleared his throat. “You owe me an explanation, at least.”  
  
The Doctor grit his teeth. Short of bodily throwing Jack off the TARDIS, or hiding in her infinite interior until Jack gave up and went home, he was cornered. Which meant actually… talking.   
  
“Well?”  
  
Jack looked at him expectantly. The Doctor straightened and took a deep breath, but stalled. Bloody hell. “You want tea?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Tea’s nice. I have some nice, uh, blends…” He petered out as Jack’s expression pinched with irritation, and he rubbed at his neck in sheepish silence.  
  
Jack clapped a hand over his shoulder and spun him around towards the hall, urging him forward on unwilling feet. “Fine, tea it is. Let’s go a have a nice chat over tea.”


	3. Chapter 3

Jack sat at the tiny kitchen table and watched the Doctor flit about, opening and shutting cupboards as he searched for the necessary materials. He pivoted to open another cupboard, and when he shut it again without taking anything out, Jack tilted his head to indicate the mysterious search. “Do you actually know where anything is? This is your kitchen.”  
  
“Hah! Here they are!” The Doctor pulled a familiar-looking tea tin out of a drawer and brandished it at him. “Well, it’s your fault, isn’t it? The TARDIS constantly reorganizes my kitchen according to the expectation of anyone who comes aboard. I think it’s her way of making humans feel more at home. Kitchens are very important to human morale.”  
  
Jack looked around the kitchen, and the nagging sense of familiarity suddenly clicked. It was Estelle’s kitchen–the tiny little house where she’d lived when he met her; linoleum floors and Formica-topped table, rickety chairs with vinyl seat covers, even the little green mugs. He felt the sharp pang of nostalgia for the life he’d lived in this room.  
  
“You must have been happy here.”  
  
He glanced up to find the Doctor watching him, hands tucked in his pockets. “Yeah.” He pushed away the bittersweet memories, focusing his attention on the Doctor. Jack wasn’t willing to let him sidestep the issue again. “I want to be clear, I didn’t mean to force anything with you. I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position.”  
  
The Doctor poured two cups of tea and brought them to the table. He slid one over to Jack and sat in the chair across the table, toying with the handle of his own mug and staring into the murky depths.  
  
“I let it happen.” The Doctor straightened and folded his arms, cheeks slightly pink at the admission. “I suppose I could pretend I didn’t, but I did.”  
  
“So much for my crafty seduction techniques.”  
  
The Doctor gave him to a wan smile. “Don’t start.”  
  
The familiar banter was calming, and he smiled, taking a small sip from his steaming cup. “It was intense, but I figured that was part of it. You’re a bit overwhelming, as far as mindscapes go.”  
  
The Doctor let out a short laugh that lacked humour. “Well, it’s hard to keep the place up if you're not expecting any visitors, you know?”  
  
Jack blinked. “I’m not actually sure that I do.”  
  
“I lost control. Spectacularly.” The Doctor scratched his head, clearly embarrassed. “Your brain wasn’t prepared for the input, and blew a fuse. Like plugging a 110-volt hairdryer into a 220-volt outlet.”  
  
“Dangerous?”  
  
“Oh, yes.”  
  
“So that's why you ran away?”  
  
The Doctor winced at his bald statement. “I wouldn’t say ‘ran away,’ exactly. Strategic retreat?” He grinned weakly.  
  
Jack let the joke fall flat, treating the Doctor to a cold stare. “You have a talent for those.” He knew it was bitchy, but the Doctor’s flippancy was grinding his patience into non-existence.  
  
The Doctor sat back in his chair, looking chagrined and caught-out. “I didn’t mean–it wasn’t supposed to–“ He stumbled to a halt, jaw working silently as he groped for words.  
  
“You realize you left me twisting in the wind? No clue what was going on?” Jack rebuked him, pettiness driving him to make the Doctor squirm a little more.  
  
The Doctor flushed. “I know, but– “ his hands flailed in agitation, “–but it was only supposed to be a bit of fun! I—I didn’t think…” The Doctor trailed off into embarrassed silence as he grabbed his tea and took a swig, looking anywhere but Jack.  
  
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “A bit of fun?”  
  
“What?” the Doctor said defensively. “I mean, it was supposed to be. Anyway, you’re the one who offered! Okay, I suppose if you go back far enough, I started it. Sort of. Okay, maybe saying _just_ a bit of fun is a bit, um. Not that I meant to undermine it, of course–“  
  
Jack chuckled and leaned back in his chair, watching the Doctor descend into mortified babbling. He wondered idly if he should take this personally, but found it too amusing to truly object. “Doctor, I am the last person in the world you need to justify yourself to.”  
  
“Yes, well,” the Doctor said with strained dignity.  
  
“Just glad to know you can consciously unbend once in a while. Surprised, I should say. As in possibly dying of shock.”  
  
The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head, but quickly grew serious again. “Mental discipline was never my strong suit to begin with, not like–like others. And then after the War… You have to understand, Jack, that it's been… well. It’s been a very long time.” He looked intensely uncomfortable, and took a long drink of his tea.  
  
Jack had the distinct impression that the Doctor had just changed what he'd been about to say. "How long?"  
  
The Doctor took another swallow of tea. "Long enough. Does it matter?” He stood. “Let me get that for you." He swiped up Jack's teacup along with his own, emptied the remaining tea into the sink, and began to tidy things away. He kept his back turned towards Jack, his motions hurried and overly loud in the kitchen, as though to cover the silence.  
  
Jack frowned, trying to decipher the abrupt flip in the Doctor’s attitude. What had sent the Doctor skittering away all of a sudden? He mulled over the possibilities. Was his last telepathic experience a touchy memory, perhaps something from the Time War, someone who’d died? Well, they’d all died, but maybe someone he’d loved, or…  
  
Jack had a sinking realization. They hadn’t all died. A second Time Lord has survived the War. Had, in fact, kept the Doctor imprisoned on his ship for a full year, and who knew what might have happened then? A friend, the Doctor had said, once upon a time. Or more than that?  
  
He stared at the Doctor’s back, now stiff with tension, and tried very hard not to think of the Master and the Doctor and whatever had passed between them. Several unpleasant images sprung to mind anyway, and he closed his eyes against them, feeling his stomach turn — either in horror or jealousy, he wasn’t sure which. After a while, the silence broke him from his musings, and he saw that the Doctor had come to a standstill, facing away from him and leaning on the counter.  
  
The silence hung uncomfortably between them, and Jack shifted in his chair. Then, with the automatic memory of many years doing the same, he stood and opened the low cupboard by the refrigerator, locating the bottle of whisky tucked away where he’d always kept it in Estelle’s kitchen. He fetched two tumblers and poured, handing one to the Doctor, who took it with some bemusement. He scooped his own up and took a large swallow. The burn was sharp, and a very welcomed distraction.  
  
Jack leaned his back against the counter at the Doctor’s side. “You may not need it, but I certainly do.”  
  
The Doctor sniffed it, then placed it on the counter without taking a sip. “I’m good, thanks.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-hearted attempt at a smile.  
  
Jack set his glass down next to the Doctor’s. “You didn’t need to run away from me. You could have just explained.”  
  
The Doctor crossed his arms and turned to lean his hip against the counter. “I might have overreacted a little.”  
  
“A little,” Jack said with a snort. He took another sip of his drink, ignoring the tremor in his hand.  
  
“All right, all right,” the Doctor said with a grimace. “I’m sorry.”  
  
He gave the Doctor a wry grin and a mock gasp of shock. “Two surprises in one day, Doctor. You must be trying to do me in.”  
  
“Don’t push it.”  
  
“Yessir,” he said with a flippant salute.  
  
The Doctor gave him a look of exasperation, which quickly shifted to amusement. They grinned at each other, tension forgotten for a moment.  
  
They were standing at the same line in the sand, the one he usually didn’t cross with the Doctor. If he let it go now, he was certain the Doctor would never let it come up again. But Jack wasn’t ready to let this go. The Doctor had opened up to him for a brief moment, and he wasn’t willing to lose the ground he’d gained.  
  
Dangerous, the Doctor had said. But he’d also said it was a matter of control. Jack had been knocked for a loop before, but not until he’d let himself get carried away by the flood of mental stimuli. If he could keep his concentration and ground himself, maybe he could pull this off. A swift memory of the Doctor’s heated reaction to his touch was enough to push him past any doubt. What did he have to lose?  
  
Now or never.  
  
With a certainty he didn’t feel, Jack tossed back the rest of his drink and set the glass on the counter. The whisky settled in with a glow that was as good as courage, and he turned to face the Doctor, who was eyeing him with some confusion.  
  
“Okay, let’s do it.”  
  
“What?” The Doctor blurted, taken aback.  
  
Jack took a deep breath and pushed down fluttering nerves. “You said it’s been a while.” Though not as long as the Doctor would have him believe, he thought sourly. Jack tried to dismiss the flicker of possessive jealously. This was about him and the Doctor, not some pissing contest with a memory.  
  
“Yes,” the Doctor agreed cautiously.  
  
“So, let’s try again. Get back on the horse. Like riding a bicycle. Try, try again.” He gave the Doctor a lopsided grin. “I’ve got dozens more proverbs, if you need ‘em. The point is it’s not going to change if you never do anything about it.”  
  
The Doctor frowned. “You don’t understand.”  
  
“I do.” Jack moved closer, resting his hip on the counter in a mirror image of the Doctor. “You didn’t hurt me, you disoriented me,” Jack said. “The second time, I knew what to expect. This time, I know even more.” He leaned into the Doctor, his voice low and confidential, with a hint of a gentle tease. “I am a very, very fast learner.”  
  
The Doctor tugged nervously at his ear, avoiding Jack’s eye. “I don’t even know if humans can–“  
  
“It almost worked, didn’t it?”  
  
The Doctor sighed, shaking his head. “That was just a knock on the door. There’s more, so much more to it than that.”  
  
“But the possibility is there.”  
  
“Yes, but…” The Doctor hesitated, but it was long enough that Jack could tell he was tempted. “I’m not certain I can…I mean, I’m not entirely certain your mind can handle the strain.”  
  
Jack shrugged. “So what’s the worst that can happen–I die? You do remember that’s not a permanent feature, right? We’ve got more than once chance to get it right.”  
  
The Doctor’s eyes turned hard and indignant. “Your cavalier attitude towards your life aside, can you say the same for your sanity? Is that as resilient as your body?”  
  
“I survived the Master,” Jack said flatly. “I’d say my sanity is pretty resilient, yes.”  
  
If he meant to hurt the Doctor, he succeeded with terrible efficiency. His petty jealousy was destroyed by a wave of guilt when he saw the Doctor’s face fall. The Doctor straightened and started to pivot away from Jack.  
  
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Jack caught the Doctor before he fled, his hand square across the Doctor’s chest. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” With the Doctor’s jacket unbuttoned and only the thin fabric of his shirt and tie between them, it was a sudden and intimate connection. Jack felt the Doctor’s quick breath of surprise.  
  
The Doctor blinked once and visibly collected himself again behind his aloof mask. “It’s fine. Doesn’t matter.”  
  
Damn but the man could be frustrating. Jack pressed him back, and the Doctor allowed himself to unbend enough to lean back against the counter. “All I meant is that you can’t really hurt me, so stop worrying about it so damned much.”  
  
Jack could feel the rise of fall of the Doctor’s breathing and the tension in his body. He was still upset, despite his façade of indifference. Another pang of sharp guilt struck Jack, and he stroked his palm down the Doctor’s chest in an instinctive comforting motion. Jack concentrated, pushing his sincerity towards the Doctor with a mental nudge, hoping it would add meaning to his inadequate words. “I’m sorry. Really.”  
  
The Doctor’s eyelids fluttered briefly, and he felt more than heard the Doctor’s breath catch. Jack’s heart clenched. Oh, the man was gorgeous. There was a flush in the Doctor’s cheeks, and his rigid stance had loosened, and Jack was able to feel the rhythm of his hearts tripping along beneath his palm, and all of it was so damned _distracting_ , he’d completely lost his train of thought. The heat of his skin was warming the fabric of the Doctor’s shirt, and he moved closer, overcome by the urge to–  
  
Jack stilled his hand, confused. It was low on the Doctor’s belly, having followed the line of the Doctor’s tie after a leisurely exploration on the way down, and he’d leaned in such that he’d caged the Doctor against the counter. Jack froze, uncertain what to do, and what to say to the Doctor who was studiously not looking at him. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking that got him into this position; he hadn’t meant to be this forward, he’d just unthinkingly followed a heated urge that had sent his hand wandering, and then–  
  
The light bulb went off. The Doctor was broadcasting again. He could recognize the external influence of the Doctor’s impulses now–it was the same thing that he’d felt in the library. Now that he was really looking, inches away, Jack could see that the Doctor was just as affected as Jack. Jack might be outmatched in the mental arena, but he could recognise basic physical attraction. Jack slid his hand back up to the Doctor’s chest to measure his thudding hearts, dizzy with the headiness of his revelation.  
  
“Doctor.” His voice was rough. The feel of the Doctor’s body was intoxicating, the faint warm scent of him compelling. “What do you want?”  
  
The Doctor opened and shut his mouth a few times, his eyes fixed on Jack’s collar, before he managed to speak. “It’s not that simple.”  
  
He could still feel the Doctor’s temptation and eagerness, along with a number of other emotions that ranged from fear to doubt. The Doctor was caught between what he wanted and what he thought he should do, but it wasn’t going to take much more than a nudge to tip him over the edge either way. Jack lifted his hand away from the Doctor’s chest and softly stroked the Doctor’s cheek, moving up along his cheekbone. “I think it is. Just tell me.”  
  
Jack felt a mental pulse of _want_ so fierce that he instinctively wrapped an arm around the Doctor, hand settling into the small of his back to pull him close.  
  
The Doctor‘s unsteady breath was warm against his cheek. “I really shouldn’t.”  
  
“Trust me. I can do this.”  
  
Jack ran his finger over the Doctor’s temple, a deliberate tease this time. The Doctor made a wordless noise, turning into his touch, eyes unfocused. There came a pulse of fearful desire that sent a shudder through Jack. Jack stroked again and the Doctor followed the touch, nuzzling at Jack’s hand, breath fast and shallow. His lips moved against the heel of Jack’s hand, and it was somewhere between an accidental brush and a kiss.  
  
The line between physical and mental had blurred, and Jack could feel the tug of the Doctor’s mind as well as the hard length of him against his groin. The Doctor wanted him, in ways that were both familiar and foreign to him. Jack was torn between terror and giddy satisfaction at the success of his seduction.  
  
He reached down to grasp the Doctor’s hands, which had settled at Jack’s waist, and guided them towards his face until fingers brushed his cheeks. The Doctor pulled his head back, about to protest until his fingers grazed Jack’s jaw line and the words disappeared. Fingertips rested lightly by Jack’s ears, shaking ever so slightly. Then, they crept into place. The Doctor paused, searching Jack’s face for something, and the Doctor’s doubt whispered in his mind.  
  
He wouldn’t let the Doctor run away this time. Jack tried to ignore his pounding heart and sweaty palms, and all the instincts that were focused on touch and taste and smell, and instead turned his focus inward.  
  
Jack closed his eyes, braced himself, and _pushed_.  
  
The Doctor’s mind slammed into his with such force that Jack’s eyes snapped wide open in shock. Their gazes locked. Jack’s desire was paltry in comparison to the hungry desperation that flushed through him with the speed of an electric current, and his muscles trembled in response. Abruptly the Doctor flipped them around, pinning Jack against the countertop. Jack gladly let the counter take his weight, no longer trusting his knees with the task.  
  
Words resolved in his mind, suffused with a dark intensity, half desire and half fear. _Jack, this is dangerous._  
  
Jack held his place, focusing on the Doctor’s steady gaze instead of the cacophony in his head. “That’s what makes it fun.”  
  
He concentrated on the feel of the Doctor’s wiry body against his, trying to find a counterbalance to the overwhelming mental stimulation. Feeling bolder, he set his fingers on the Doctor’s temples, which sparked another shiver of pleasure. He raked them back along the Doctor’s scalp, letting his thumbs press at his temples as he stroked the Doctor's soft hair.  
  
The motion lit a fire in Jack’s mind, and he reeled as a beacon of need, loneliness and yearning tugged at him with greedy hands, eager to pull him deeper, dragging him away from his physical senses. Sudden tears stung at his eyes, and his fingers curled tightly in the Doctor’s hair, and he struggled to hold onto these sensations and keep one foot in the real world. One hand came down to clutch at the Doctor’s jacket, desperate to pull him as close as possible, but he could barely feel the press of the Doctor against him, or the cloth gripped in his fist, or the pant of the Doctor’s breath. The powerful overwriting of his senses and thoughts and desires was at once frightening and exhilarating.  
  
_That’s me, not you, Jack. Remember yourself._  
  
Remember himself. Right, remember himself–a man with no name, out of his own time, living for all time–no. He was more than a name, a place, a time. Wasn’t he? He liked dry summer winds, and Viennese pastries, and kisses, and… and…  
  
_Jack, it’s too much._  
  
Jack was a fading memory, a daydream that someone else had, and he was the Doctor, everything and everywhere, here and now and in the future and the past, beginning and ending and everything in between–  
  
_Hold on. It’ll be all right in a moment._  
  
He felt the Doctor withdraw, receding like a tide. Sadness, failure, regret, fear, apology, _oh I’m so, so sorry_ , alone–  
  
Not alone–god, not again, not that. It wasn’t his fear, but the panic drowned him nonetheless. He kissed the Doctor, frantic and messy, as though trying to crawl inside him. Shock thundered through the Doctor, loosening walls, and Jack pressed forward, down through layers of thought, grasping and insinuating himself, refusing to let go–  
  
_Jack, no!_  
  
–and then he fell into chaos.  
  
He burned–he could see everything and understand and it burned and it was too much stop stop _makeitstopstopstop too much wrong wrong WRONG–_  
  
A searing blast like a nuclear shock wave struck him. He tumbled back, ejected, cast adift. He fell, clutching for whatever he could find.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Jack slowly became aware of the Doctor’s voice, calling his name repeatedly. Strong arms rocked him back and forth and stroked the back of his head. Jack had curled forward onto his knees, face burrowed into the Doctor’s chest, hiding in the dark. He carefully released each hand, leaving damp and crumpled spots in the fabric of the Doctor’s jacket. He lifted his head and blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision.  
  
“Jack? Jack, say something,” the Doctor demanded. Jack felt a sharp sting on his cheek–the Doctor had slapped him, lightly–and only then did he realize he’d let his eyes close again. “Come on, Jack, stay with me.”  
  
He forced his eyes to focus, but his head lolled onto the Doctor’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” he managed. His tongue felt thick and slow as he forced out the words.  
  
“Fine, oh, he’s _fine_ ,” the Doctor muttered. He kept one arm tight around Jack as he pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, flipping settings with one hand. “Sure, almost burned out your connective neural pathways, but hey, no problem, you’re fine!” he continued, scanning Jack. The blue light shook, giving away the Doctor’s trembling hands. His face had gone pale beneath a sheen of sweat.  
  
Jack didn’t imagine he looked any better. He rubbed his head, trying to clear out the cotton that had stuffed itself into his skull. He tried a half-hearted smile, but he couldn't control the muscles in his face, and he drooled a bit on the Doctor’s collar. _Charming_. “That was one hell of a kiss, Doc,” he slurred.  
  
The Doctor pulled back, looking shocked. “What? How can you–oh, of course." His mouth flattened into a thin, bitter line. “That’s all this is to you. That’s what it's always about. Humans!” He flipped the screwdriver back and examined the readout. “You are fine, Captain, thanks to your impressive healing abilities–no thanks to your common sense.” He disentangled himself from Jack, standing, and stuffed the screwdriver back in his pocket.  
  
"I can't…" He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He remembered a desperate need to keep the Doctor close, pulling him in, then…it was there, he just couldn’t focus. He shook his head in frustration, then winced at the headache it started up.  
  
The Doctor held one shaking hand over his eyes for a moment, breathing steadily. When he lifted his head, his outward signs of distress had been collected and shoved away. He hooked his arms under Jack’s armpits and heaved him upright, tucking one shoulder against him and bringing Jack’s arm over his shoulders for support.  
  
“Come on,” he said, voice still clipped and short. “We’re going to tuck you into bed, let you have a nice rest. Good sleep, you’ll be right as rain.”  
  
Jack let himself be maneuvered out of the library and down the hall. He mumbled a question or two, but the Doctor rebuffed him with either nonsense or silence. In a few minutes, he was tucked into bed, head still aching but with a heavy sleepiness creeping over him.  
  
The lights dimmed, and Jack rolled his head to see the Doctor in the doorway, silhouetted by the corridor lights beyond. “I’m sorry,” Jack mumbled.  
  
The Doctor leaned his head against the doorjamb. “There you go again, apologizing for things that are my fault.” He straightened and grabbed the door handle. “Sleep well, Captain.”  
  
The room went dark as he shut the door. Jack quickly fell asleep.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
He’d nearly destroyed Jack.  
  
The Doctor thumped his head against the corridor wall outside Jack’s room, once and then again, hard enough to hurt.  
  
_You could have had him._ The twinge of loss and regret made him feel physically ill. The feeling of Jack burrowing deep into the Doctor’s consciousness, diving into the self that lived beyond each regeneration, something more intimate than he’d had in so long…  
  
He thumped his head against the wall again. Wasn’t that brilliant? Jack could have been eaten alive and left as an immortal shell, and the Doctor was hungrily reliving the events that had left Jack screaming in mental agony. He could have lost Jack, too blinded by his own eagerness, too self-absorbed and greedy to take his time.  
  
The Doctor straightened and turned from Jack’s door. He had only a mind to put distance between himself and Jack. As he walked he stripped off his jacket and untucked his shirttails to cool himself off. He was sweaty and disheveled from the work of dragging Jack back to his room, half-draped across him and asking garbled questions that he couldn’t begin to answer.  
  
What was wrong with him? He never should have let Jack get down that far, lowered his guard enough to let Jack sneak past. At the first touch of contact, Jack had clung to the strongest identity he could find–the Doctor–and lost all sense of himself. Jack had no natural defense mechanisms or training to deal with that kind of psychological challenge–of course he didn’t. He’d gone too deep, too fast.  
  
_It was his idea,_ a voice in the back of his mind whispered.  
  
_But I should have stopped him._ He’d failed to be the voice of reason, to control himself in the face of temptation. And what had he done to help Jack? He’d panicked, overwhelmed by Jack’s fear and the acid scrape of Jack’s immortality. Delivered a violent roundhouse kick to the psychic core, thrusting Jack away as fast as possible.  
  
He could have eased Jack out–Jack might have been disoriented and terrified, but he would have been okay. Instead had caused Jack even more trauma in his desperation to cut the connection. He was lucky he hadn’t destroyed Jack’s mind completely. He’d been so careless, letting Jack slip past his defenses. How could he?  
  
That kiss. That stupid, bloody kiss. Distracting him, clouding his mind, and pulling his attention to shallow physical desire.  
  
Wasn’t that the whole problem? Jack gave him a sidelong look, touch him just so, kissed him, and suddenly reason deserted him. He’d let himself be seduced by–what? Gentle hands and soft lips, and he was ready to come to pieces? What had he become, that he was just as tempted by a human body as he was by a willing mind?  
  
_It could have worked._ He remembered the heady feel of Jack, hard against him, the way Jack had moved, the hands clenching and pulling tightly as his mind dove in…  
  
Dammit, he had to stop thinking like that. He was only confusing himself. The body was secondary. This physical attraction nonsense was just a reflection of Jack’s overactive human desires. Jack was human, he couldn’t possibly–he didn’t want Jack like that.  
  
Did he?  
  
He steps faltered and he stopped in the middle of the empty corridor, feeling lost. What had he become? It was the question the Master had asked him over and again that long year they’d had together, sometimes delivered to the deepest levels of the Doctor’s mind, sometimes with a winking leer as he dragged his human wife to bed, or after, when he stared down at the Doctor, reeking of vice and depravity.  
  
_What have you become, Doctor? Not so different anymore, are we?_  
  
He didn’t care to contemplate the answer any longer.  
  
It didn’t matter, anyway. He had to stop this before he hurt Jack irrevocably. He pivoted, and now he walked with purpose. He knew where he needed to go. He had to control himself and clear away the numb panic, but it stubbornly clung to him. His stride lengthened in the hopes that he could outrace the cloying fear. He’d hurt Jack, all for his own needs and desires.  
  
He couldn’t do this anymore. 


	4. Chapter 4

Before he even opened his eyes, Jack knew he was alone. The image of the Doctor closing the door on him sprang vividly to mind before he’d fully awakened, prodding him out of sleep. He rolled onto his back, prying open gummy eyes and squinting at the ceiling. When Jack heard a cleared throat, he nearly jumped out of bed. His legs tangled in the sheets as he tried to twist around and he cursed, kicking at the sheets trapping him.  
  
“Steady on, Jack. Only me.”  
  
Jack finally turned around to see the Doctor sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, book in hand. The chair had not been in his room before, so either the Doctor had brought it in, or the TARDIS had supplied it. He peered at Jack over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows raised. He’d lost the jacket somewhere along the way, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, and he looked like absolute hell.  
  
Jack cleared his throat, which felt raw. “Hello. Didn’t expect you to be here.”  
  
“Exceeds expectations, that’s me,” the Doctor said brightly, snapping his book shut and tossing it to the floor. He hopped up, already brandishing his sonic screwdriver. “Mind if I have a look? I took a scan while you were sleeping, but I’d like to be sure now that you’re awake.”  
  
Jack scooted upright in the bed, so that his back rested against the headboard. He’d slept in his clothes, shoes and all, and felt grimy and stiff. He kicked off the shoes and pulled his braces off as the Doctor sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
The Doctor took Jack’s chin in his hand and moved his head to and fro, his demeanour professional and remote. The oscillating buzz of the screwdriver hummed around him for a minute, making Jack's teeth vibrate unpleasantly. The Doctor released him and inspected the gadget, clearly satisfied with what he saw.  
  
“You’re fine–physically, at least.” He tucked the screwdriver back into his trouser pocket, but didn’t get up. “How do you feel?”  
  
“Like a truck ran over me.” His mind was still humming with information too jumbled to make sense. He was rattled, but he tried to hide it, focusing instead on the Doctor. “How are you?”  
  
“Me? Fine.” The Doctor shook his head, staring silently at the bed between them for a long while. Eventually he lifted his eyes to Jack. “For a while there, I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”  
  
“Like you said, I’m fine. What's life without the occasional risk of falling into a permanent vegetative state?” He mustered his best grin, though he felt less than his shining best. It faltered immediately under the weight of the Doctor’s stare.  
  
“This isn’t a joke. It’s not a game. I don’t know why I let it get this out of hand, but it’s over.” The Doctor spoke with finality, the pronouncement of a sentence. “I’ve been hanging onto an idea that should have been buried a long time ago, and I won’t have you suffer because of it.”  
  
Jack leaned forward, coming eye to eye with the Time Lord. “Doctor, I am fine.” He closed the gap between them and kissed him lightly, then withdrew. “Look at me. I’m fine. I just need a little time to process.”  
  
As he sat back, the Doctor’s eyes fluttered open, having lost their hard edge. “Jack,” he sighed, shaking his head as he pulled away. “It was too much for your mind. And I…” He licked his lips, and stared down at his hands.  
  
A wave of fire flashed over Jack, something so endless that even trying to hold the concept in his mind felt ponderous and impossible. A vast song, shot through with discord, a knife twisting in his gut. “There was this–this feeling. Something very wrong. That’s me, isn’t it? That’s how you see me. That’s what I am.” In a flash, he remembered the frantic strike that knocked him from the Doctor’s mind, and the fear and panic behind it, pushing him away from the hypnotic magic and promised safety he’d reached for deep in the Doctor’s mind.  
  
A hand on his knee brought him back, and he blinked away the memories. The Doctor’s brow was furrowed. “I don’t see you that way anymore. I don’t, honestly.”  
  
Jack covered the Doctor's hand with his own, partly to reassure the Doctor, partly himself. “But you can’t help it, can you? Is that why–”  
  
“No. It’s just how it is. It’s like the sun–it’s bright, but you can choose not to stare at. You can find ways to enjoy the warmth without burning. I just…wasn’t thinking.” He blew out a breath noisily and began again with false energy. “Come on, let’s go to the infirmary. I want to run a few more tests.” The Doctor turned his hand up and grasped Jack’s. Jack laced their fingers together and let himself be tugged out of bed.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The Doctor flipped the scanner off. “Normal neural functions.” He tossed it onto the bench and rooted out yet another scanner from the drawer, this one with a flickering amber light that pulsed as he ran it along Jack’s scalp.  
  
“Another one?” Jack looked up, watching the Doctor’s hand move.  
  
“Just to be safe.”  
  
The Doctor plugged the scanner into the reader, scrolling through the data quickly. Jack was, unsurprisingly, the very picture of a healthy 51st century human brain. If there was any physical damage from the psychic encounter, it had healed itself completely.  
  
He rubbed at his dry eyes, glancing back at Jack. Jack seemed unbothered, just patiently bearing with the Doctor’s need to examine him. Jack had drifted briefly in the bedroom when remembering their encounter, and that was a tad worrisome, but it wasn’t a hardware problem, per se. That meant that any damage to Jack was likely emotional trauma, which could be addressed by telepathic assessment and treatment…  
  
No. Definitely not going down that path. Time, rest, and distance would work just as well. The Doctor set up the equipment for the third and final scan. He’d finish this, and if everything pitched up negative like he expected, he could move on with a clear conscience.  
  
Jack sat on the end of the elevated table, feet dangling. The Doctor set down a box with trailing electrodes beside him. Stationing himself between Jack's legs, he began the process of attaching the electrodes to Jack’s head. He leaned closer to attach the two patches to the nape of Jack’s neck, just below the hairline. Jack’s hands came up and rested on his waist, and he tried to ignore it.  
  
If he were honest, it was nice and reassuring to feel the weight and heat of Jack’s hands through his clothing, if terribly distracting. Which it really, really shouldn’t be.  
  
He finished affixing the last patch, and let his fingers trail through Jack’s hair and linger a moment, then drift around the edge of Jack’s ear. When Jack sighed contentedly, the Doctor pulled back quickly and stepped back to the control box, flipping the dials, striving for professional distance. “Now, this should tingle a little bit, but other than that, you won’t feel a thing.”  
  
Jack nodded, the nest of wires shifting with the slight movement. The Doctor flipped the switch to engage the current, and took a look at the readings. Nothing, as he’d expected.  
  
“So?” Jack said, looking sideways and turning his head as little as possible to avoid jostling the wires.  
  
“Hm? Oh, yes. Congratulations, you still have a healthy human brain.”  
  
Jack chuckled lightly. “Good to know.”  
  
“You’re fine as far as I can see.” The Doctor sighed as he stood in front of Jack again and started plucking the pads off Jack’s head, replacing them in the clips on the machine’s side. He leaned forward to peel off the contact on Jack’s neck. He felt Jack’s hands settle at his waist again, as though Jack wanted to make sure he was still there.  
  
“We’ll figure it out,” Jack said. “We have time.”  
  
The Doctor sighed. _We._ He pulled off the last patch and set it aside. “There, all done.”  
  
Jack smiled up at him. “Thanks.”  
  
He stared down into Jack’s face, at his easy and trusting smile. And wasn’t that just Jack, standing there with that brash grin of his, refusing to do anything other than laugh at the dark. It was charming, in an infuriating way. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. Of all the people to crawl under his skin, he would have never guessed it to be Jack.  
  
Unable to stop himself, the Doctor lifted his hand again and stroked a finger along Jack’s temple. He’d made sure to tightly shore up his walls, and not even a hint of thought came through. All he could feel was Jack, just skin and hair and bones.  
  
Jack shivered at his touch, and his eyes closed. The Doctor brought his other hand up and drew a light line along his hairline, down his jaw, and Jack hummed contentedly.  
  
The Doctor looked down at Jack, feeling his throat tighten. He could have Jack, like this. Those strong and handsome features, eyes closed, lips that parted when the Doctor ran a finger over them, dark hair falling across his forehead. He could focus on that, on the crush and press of bodies, and try to ignore the mind singing beneath his fingertips. It was still Jack either way, wasn’t it?  
  
The blunt, vulgar desperation of his thoughts snapped him out of his reverie. He’d skirted the boundaries of decency so many times with Jack that he was starting to lose sight of the line. He had to stop this, before he went too far.  
  
He took a cleansing breath, let the tension bleed out of him, and stepped back to slide out of Jack’s arms. “Time to go, then.”  
  
Jack opened his eyes and his brow drew together in confusion. “What? Go where?”  
  
“I landed in Cardiff while you were sleeping. A tiny bit off, I suppose. You’ve been gone about three hours. It’s nearly dawn. Still, don’t think you’ve missed much.” He busied himself with stowing the leads and neural sensor patches, turning his back to Jack.  
  
“Not funny.” Jack’s voice was tense.  
  
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He finished tucking the last bits together and heaved it off the bench, tucking it away in a low cupboard.  
  
Jack slid off the bench and took his elbow, forcing him to turn around. “What is going on? What are you doing?”  
  
The Doctor met his eyes and had to look away. He hadn’t expected it to be quite this difficult. He straightened and cleared his throat, dodging around Jack and tidying away some other loose scanning equipment. “I’m taking you home. I thought that was obvious.”  
  
“Nothing about this is obvious.” Jack’s voice was rising. The Doctor carefully closed a drawer and reluctantly turned to face Jack again.  
  
“It’s…” he trailed off, searching for words that that would make sense to Jack, and would make it clear without being unnecessarily hurtful. “It’s for the best, honestly. You really should get back to your life. And I really should be going on–should have done right from the start.”  
  
Jack steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, visibly gathering his wits. “Okay, explain this to me. You must have a reason.”  
  
The Doctor held up his hands in a placating gesture. “After what happened–“  
  
“I don’t even properly know what happened!” Jack snapped. “I kind of thought you’d go over it with me, help me understand!”  
  
“You–you were going. Leaving. A piece of you, sucked down into the whirlpool, and I completely crushed you. You weren’t even Jack anymore, and then you–I...” The explanation was feeble, and he knew it, and his frustration peaked. “How can you expect me to explain this to you? Humans live what, a hundred and fifty years at their peak evolution? You live boring linear lives, stuck in one mind and one body. The concepts don’t even properly exist in your language!”  
  
Jack’s hands were curled in tight fists. “So teach me a new language,” he ground out. “By your definition, I’m not even human anymore, so maybe it’s about time I learn.”  
  
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “No, I was wrong. Completely wrong. It didn’t work, but miraculously you’re fine, so let’s leave it.”  
  
Jack made a disbelieving, inarticulate cry. “You can’t just leave it!”  
  
_You can’t leave me._ Jack’s unspoken words were crystal clear.  
  
The accusation stung, and the Doctor struggled to hold his rising anger in check. “Let it go, Jack. Whatever you think you feel, it’ll pass with time. You’re so fond of your retcon, take some of that if you can’t deal with it. Or just move on–embrace that _c’est la vie_ spirit you’ve apparently mastered.” He was being cruel, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself.  
  
“I should retcon myself, that’s your solution?” Harsh notes of disbelieving laughter coloured his voice.  
  
“Yes, why not? Then we can both forget about it.”  
  
Jack turned away, running his fingers through his hair as he paced. Then he spun around with an agonized look. “You can’t play with me like this.”  
  
The Doctor crossed his arms tightly. “What are you talking about?  
  
“Everything! Telling me you care, leading me on.” His eyes were pleading with the Doctor. “I saw it in your mind, how you feel, what you want. Give me time to figure it out. You can’t just–“  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Doctor snapped, cutting him off. His heart pounded, and his blood rushed noisily in his ears.  
  
“I know you believe it’s possible.”  
  
That was just a self-deluded wish, nothing more. Jack might be capable, if the Doctor had the self-discipline to control himself. Which he clearly did not. “Leave it, Jack.”  
  
Jack’s voice softened. “Do you think I didn’t notice how much you wanted me to touch you?”  
  
The Doctor paled, mortified at hearing his inappropriate desires put into words. “I didn’t–no.” He turned away from Jack, shoving equipment back into drawers with shaking hands.  
  
“It’s okay to want–”  
  
No it’s not!” The Doctor whirled back to him, desperate to silence Jack. “Why can’t you understand!” He banged his fingers on his temples, painful and sharp. “Without this, it’s just–just empty action, Jack! _This_ can’t happen! And the rest means nothing!”  
  
Jack deflated at the harsh words. “It means something to me.”  
  
The Doctor was an excellent liar, and sometimes he was even good enough to lie to himself. Not now, thought. He’d been as eager for Jack to touch his body as well as his mind, but it was a humiliating admission and he wouldn’t give it voice.  
  
_What have you become, Doctor? How can you stand it?_  
  
“You have to leave, Jack.” He couldn’t be trusted, for Jack’s own good. “I lost control. I hurt you. I can’t do that again.”  
  
“You can’t tell me you really want me to go.” Jack was rocking his weight uneasily back and forth.  
  
“Yes, I do.” Clean, fast, like ripping a plaster off. “I want you to go.”  
  
Jack hunched forward, leaning both hands on the bench and bowing his head low. He was braced as though against a physical pain.  
  
The Doctor felt his stomach drop. “Jack?”  
  
Jack let out a slow, soft breath. He drew another deliberately. “So that’s it then. I didn’t get it right, so you’re done with me.”  
  
“No, of course not–it’s not…” He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing back the threatening rise of emotions that were scrabbling to the forefront of his brain, choking thoughts and words. _This is me, my shortcomings. My inability to keep you safe, to protect you from myself._ “Jack, this has nothing to do with you.”  
  
Jack laughed, a short and ugly sound. “No, of course it doesn’t. Why would it?” His eyes were hard, like ice. “Just as well. I never wanted to be the Master’s substitute anyway.”  
  
The Doctor felt the blood drain from his face. He had trouble finding the breath to speak. “Don’t say that. You’re not.”  
  
“No, ‘course not. How could I possibly compete?” Jack said as he straightened, arms folding across his chest. He stared the Doctor down, but after a moment his gaze faltered, and he looked away. “I just thought this time would be different, you know? I just thought maybe, that I could…”  
  
This wasn’t right. Jack didn’t stand with hunched shoulders, looking like he’d had his heart ripped out of his chest. Jack's anger he could handle, or his sarcastic stoicism, okay. But this raw, barbed hurt was slashing him to shreds. He wanted Jack to shout and fight back, and storm out with righteous anger so that he could say good riddance and not give any of this a backward glance. “How many times do I have to say it, Jack? This isn’t about you!”  
  
“Why not?” Jack shot back. “What’s wrong with me? I try so fucking hard, and it’s never enough for you!” Jack’s voice cracked.  
  
The Doctor flinched. He couldn’t do this. “Please, Jack. Just stop. You–you’re just emotional from all the psychic activity. Hard on the system.” The words came out at a breakneck pace, meaningless and empty. He needed to say something to make it better, but his mind only supplied him with nonsense, so he let it tumble forth in the hopes that it might work. “It’ll pass, you’ll see. You just need some time, good bit of sleep, a full English, maybe a–”  
  
Without warning, Jack crossed the space between them in three quick strides. Before he could move, large hands cupped his face, warm fingers spreading along his neck, and Jack kissed him, stemming the flood of words. His brain seized mid-thought, and he couldn’t stop his instinctive reaction–he deepened the kiss, his hands moving automatically to Jack’s arms. He made a noise that definitely wasn’t a moan, but certainly wasn’t much more dignified. Jack broke the kiss abruptly and pulled back to look at him, leaving him stunned and disoriented, and then horrified at his enthusiastic response.  
  
“Nothing?” Jack said, pressing one hand against the Doctor’s chest, feeling his frantically beating hearts. Jack’s eyes glittering sharply as he inspected the Doctor’s face, settling finally to meet his gaze squarely. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
There was the faintest brush against his mental shields, saturated in such grief that it was enough to stagger him. The Doctor closed his eyes. It was too much. He couldn’t bear this.  
  
“Jack, please.” His voice broke hoarsely, and he tugged out of Jack’s hold. “I can’t.”  
  
Jack stared at him impassively, then leaned back heavily against the bench. He said nothing.  
  
They sat in silence for some time, each wrapped up in the wreckage of their argument, utterly drained. The Doctor tried to look relaxed and normal, but the effort of holding himself together had left every muscle knotted and tense. His body was starting to shake with fine tremors.  
  
Jack finally spoke. “So that’s that.” He looked exhausted.  
  
The Doctor nodded hesitantly. “Yeah.” He felt oddly reluctant to speak. Jack’s look of fatalistic acceptance was almost worse than anything else.  
  
Jack folded his arms and sniffed, looking at the floor between them. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll miss you.”  
  
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. “Well. I do tend to be around. Earth has a reputation for needing a hand now and then.”  
  
“I know.” Jack straightened, fixing his collar and rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. “But I won’t be seeing you.”  
  
The Doctor blinked. There were something in the words–it wasn’t an accusation, but a promise. An ugly sense of foreboding fell over him. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I can’t do this any more.”  
  
His hands were going numb, and the shaking was starting to escape his control. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets to hide it. “Do what?”  
  
“This…” Jack waved his hand aimlessly, and then stopped to button the cuff of his sleeve. “This whole song and dance. I’m done.”  
  
That was a terribly final pronouncement. He wanted Jack to leave, but this… “That sounds a bit extreme, Jack. We’re both going to live a long time.”  
  
Jack looked at him coolly. “Yes, we are. Have a nice life, Doctor. Lives. Whatever.” He turned away and walked towards the door.  
  
The Doctor felt a wave of nausea overcome him. "Jack, stop it." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. It wasn’t until that precise, sickening moment that he realized he might never see Jack Harkness again. That wasn’t at all where he’d wanted this train to go. They just needed a bit of space–ten years, maybe fifty, they could put it behind them. Blink of an eye, really, then they could get back to normal things like saving the world, and dashing about in impressive coats. He was just supposed to avoid Jack for the next forever? Could he even do that? Never mind that he didn’t want to, was it even physically possible?  
  
He liked Jack. He liked dropping in to make trouble in his life at Torchwood. He liked his ridiculous lines and shiny grin. No matter how badly he screwed everything up, Jack always forgave him. There was always another adventure with Jack around the corner, always Jack to call on should he need to bend an ear. The rest of the world withered away, his friends came and went, their lives spent in a microsecond, but Jack was there. He’d never be able to use up all the possible seconds of time with Jack. The idea of being banned from Jack’s life was unthinkable.  
  
Something horrible was happening to his insides, like a blender going full tilt. His control started to slip as Jack walked to the doorway. He had to fix this. He had to fix it, right now, because he wasn’t going to get another chance. “Wait, Jack–“  
  
Jack turned and stopped the Doctor in his tracks. “You win. You wanted me gone, and I’m going. You’ve had your bit of fun. Sorry it was such a disappointment.”  
  
The Doctor sank into a nearby chair, unable to hold himself upright anymore. Jack watched him sit. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack made directly for the console room, not wasting any time in his departure. What was it about the Doctor that stole away his dignity? In two days he’d been stripped of two thousand years of life, leaving him an insecure, angry young Time Agent with a desperate case of hero worship that he mistook for love.  
  
It hurt like hell, but the Doctor had done him a favour. He’d lived so much of his life looking for the Doctor that it had warped him, and made the Doctor into the gravitational axis around which his life revolved. It’s not like anything had really changed, if he stepped back and thought about it. A bit less trouble dropping unexpectedly on his head, that’s all.  
  
Every life had chapters, and it was past time that this one was closed. He’d put his questions away. He hadn’t really expected the Doctor explain, had he? If the Doctor was so determined to be alone, Jack would leave him to it.  
  
Jack walked into the console room and collected his coat, which still lay draped over the railing, and strode down the ramp to open the door. The dreary Plass met him–Cardiff was grey and miserable, as usual. A gust of wind blew the misting rain in against his face, and he sighed. Sometimes he really did miss the sunshine.  
  
He turned back, taking a last look at the TARDIS. There were a lot of memories here, for a place he’d spent so little time. He moved to place a hand on a coral column, closed his eyes and focused on bidding the ship goodbye. His telepathic senses were raw, stretched and pliant from the excessive use. The TARDIS’ response was a startling shout in comparison to the gentle whispers he’d caught before. She was like an enthusiastic puppy, rubbing against him. He grinned, and let out a little chuckle.  
  
“I’ll miss you too, sweetheart.” He opened his eyes and rubbed his hand over the rough coral-like column. “Take care of him. Take care of each other.”  
  
He heard the clang of the grilled flooring, and turned to see the Doctor standing on the far side of the console. Now that he was a few steps removed, he could see the Doctor was vibrating with nervous energy, hair wild and shirt untucked, tie hanging loose and askew, rumpled from head to toe. The Doctor ground to a halt parallel the console, fists clenching and releasing.  
  
Jack wished he had the energy to be angry, but there was only resignation. He shrugged on his jacket. The Doctor could have let him have the dignity of leaving in peace. He didn’t need to be shown out.  
  
The Doctor rubbed his hands together, coming several steps closer. “Look, Jack–“  
  
“Please. I think we’re clear.” He spoke sharply, cutting the Doctor off. Instead of vindicated, he felt petty and small when the Doctor’s expression crumbled, lapsing into distress. He sighed, adjusting the collar of his jacket and letting his hands fall. “Let’s just try to leave it on a good note.”  
  
The Doctor’s thumb rubbed at the wrist of his other hand insistently. He nodded jerkily. “I–yes, of course.” His eyes darted around, then settled on Jack again. He opened his mouth again but snapped it shut quickly, looking perplexed.  
  
Despite himself, he smiled at the Doctor’s awkwardness. The Doctor smiled back–an oddly hopeful smile. Jack shook his head and met the Doctor halfway, holding out his hand. “It’s been interesting, Doctor.”  
  
The Doctor grasped his offered hand firmly. “Understatement of the ages, Captain.” The Doctor squeezed his fingers.  
  
Jack relaxed his grip, but the Doctor didn’t release him. “If you want me to leave, you’re going to have to let me go,” he said gently.  
  
The Doctor looked down at their joined hands. “Jack, I–I just wanted to say goodbye. Properly. I wanted to say thank you. For everything. You’re…” He swallowed heavily, searching. “I don’t think there’s even a word for what you are to me.”  
  
Jack closed his eyes. If he was going to do this, it had to be now, or he’d never manage to leave under his own power. “Please, Doctor. Just let me go.” He opened his eyes, met the Doctor’s impossibly large ones.  
  
The Doctor nodded. In an echo of a goodbye that was lifetimes ago, he hesitantly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jack’s lips. Jack tried to ignore his breaking heart and accept the gesture for what it was.  
  
Goodbye.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The Doctor was rubbish at goodbyes. If he ever did get around to them at all, he usually botched them up. Facing Jack now, out of words, he settled on an action. Selfish, maybe, to kiss Jack when he’d worked so hard to push him away. However, if there was a definition of last chance, this was it. Swiftly dismissing the whisper of conscience, he kissed Jack before he could change his mind.  
  
He pulled back reluctantly, and Jack’s eyes slowly opened, meeting his. He staggered under the sudden clarity of a very simple realization.  
  
He didn’t want Jack to leave.  
  
He wanted to say something, but there were no words to adequately express his feelings. Instead he leaned close to Jack again, uncertain if Jack would let him kiss him again. Jack didn’t pull back, and he took it as permission. He closed his eyes and caught Jack’s bottom lip between his, feeling a thrill at the small, rebellious concession to his urges. Jack sighed–just a small puff of air through his nose that tickled along the Doctor’s skin–and he gave into the temptation to flick his tongue against Jack’s lip, just once. Jack’s hands crept up to rest lightly on the Doctor’s waist, and Jack’s head dipped toward him, bending into the kiss.  
  
He wanted Jack to stay so much it hurt. He wanted–oh, he wanted so much of Jack, to pull Jack mind inside himself and fit them together, to feel the harmony that would set everything right, mixed with all the base physical need that filled him every time Jack touched him. It was dirty and wrong and hopelessly confusing, but god he wanted it. His mind itched to reach for Jack, his fingers restless and needing to find the connection points, but he pushed the need to the back of his thoughts.  
  
He couldn’t have that. Not exactly.  
  
Jack nibbled at his lips and slid a hand up to cup the back of his head, and the Doctor’s knees weakened.  
  
This was what he could have.  
  
He was losing his thoughts in the muzzy haze of arousal, in the smell of Jack’s pheromones and the feel of his smooth skin. He wanted Jack. His body had come to the conclusion long before he had, and he was as terrified as he was giddy with the realization. Pressing against Jack only served to emphasize how hard and wanting he was.  
  
Would this be enough? Could it be?  
  
He blinkered his senses down to the human set and closing his mind tightly. He flattened his hands and ran them down Jack’s back, cupping his backside and pulling him close experimentally. The pleasure of the sensation was enough to make his mind stumble and falter, grinding his thoughts to a halt as his limited senses were swamped. This was heady and good and stupid and oh god, what was he doing? He couldn’t think for the hammering in his chest. He instinctively deepened the kiss, tightening his hold on Jack.  
  
Jack pulled out of the kiss, but not from his arms. He was flushed and breathing hard, confused. “Doctor?”  
  
He didn’t want to talk, or think. Instead he kissed Jack again, the force of his advances pushing Jack back, until they reached the door. Blindly fumbling behind Jack, he reached out and closed the door with a creak, shutting Cardiff safely out. He pushed Jack against the door, trapping him against the painted wood, and Jack’s breath rushed out from the force of it.  
  
He pushed aside Jack’s heavy coat and reached beneath, feeling Jack arch into him as he tugged at Jack’s shirt and worked it out of his trousers to find the skin beneath, running his hand around and up Jack’s back. It wasn’t enough. He twisted Jack around and bodily backed him up, back into the TARDIS, away from the looming threat of Cardiff behind the outer doors. With roaming hands and distracting kisses, licks and bites, he managed to get Jack as far as the inner arch, pressing him against the wall and trying to turn Jack’s muffled protests into moans. He was relentless until Jack grabbed his hair and forced his head back.  
  
“What are you doing?” Jack panted.  
  
He had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t want to think about it in case common sense returned and dissuaded him. He wouldn’t let Jack walk off for good, and he wanted–needed–he didn’t even know what, but anything to fill the void that nagged at him. He tried to kiss Jack again, but Jack held back, gripping his hair tightly. He groaned in frustration. “Jack, please,” he begged.  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes. Thoughts flashed behind his eyes, incomprehensible, and for a terrifying moment the Doctor thought Jack would push him off and leave anyway.  
  
Then Jack released his hair and dragged him close, rolling his hips and sending a shuddering spike of pleasure through the Doctor that effectively put any further conversation to a close. They stumbled their way across the hall in an awkward, fumbling dance, falling through a door. He worked Jack back and back until his knees hit a table, and Jack swept an arm back to send detritus flying - papers, vials and equipment scattered to the ground.  
  
He shoved Jack backward, climbing over him, kissing and mouthing his way up Jack until seizing his mouth in a bruising kiss. The breathless noise from Jack made him chuckle against Jack’s mouth, but it quickly turned to a groan as Jack’s hands worked their way lower. His telepathic senses buzzed to the fore impatiently, eager to reach out and join in, but he shoved them aside.  
  
He tried to blank his mind, focusing on the taste of Jack’s skin, the smell of his pheromones saturating the air, the sharp tug of hands working at his belt. He was this man, here, with Jack. And when Jack said his name in his ear, a harsh, panted exclamation as the Doctor nipped at his throat and worked a hand into his trousers and gripped him firmly, it was enough.  
  
Jack slid one hand through his hair, skimming contact points and gripping it in a tight fist to pull him in for another brutal kiss, and he felt his control slip for one second. Jack’s thoughts, hot and fast and feral, zipped past him before he pulled back, wrenching his mind away. But Jack’s mouth kissed along his cheek and nuzzled at his ear, then up, kissing and tonguing the sensitive points along his hairline. Jack’s other hand twisted and slid, and he made a desperate moan, physically and mentally shuddering with the effort of holding himself together.  
  
“Let go,” Jack said, voice deep and gravelly in his ear.  
  
“No,” he choked out through clenched teeth. “No, I won’t.”  
  
His legs were shaking, arms braced on either side of Jack’s head, and he wondered exactly when he had lost the upper hand here. He shouldn’t have been surprised–in some matters, Jack knew far more than the Doctor ever would. But it was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t sure he could resist reaching out to Jack, trying to drag him from the superficial telepathic level down into contact. He wouldn’t hurt him, not again. He would stay here, in his body, with Jack beneath him, clothes half-undone and pushed aside, in this very human act of companionship. It was enough, it was _enough_ , goddamn it.  
  
Jack placed another kiss on his temple, his tongue twisting and licking briefly, and the Doctor’s head dropped, muscles going loose with the cracking current that coursed through every nerve in his body, electric bolts of pleasure searing straight into his mind.  
  
_You stubborn idiot, let go._  
  
His walls fell and Jack came rushing in, all the heady human lust swamping him and destroying what was left of his restraint. Oh, and why did Jack’s thoughts have to be filled with such love that it made him swell inside to feel it? He was becoming uncoordinated with the relentless stimulation, both physical and mental, buried in delicious, primal sensations he rarely indulged in.  
  
Jack took advantage of his lapse to push him up and flip him over, efficiently stripping him of his clothes without ever releasing him. He reciprocated with clumsy hands, and then Jack was on him, the human drive singing through his blood and pouring through the telepathic link.  
  
When the first faint, drifting feeling of deeper contact crept over him, his eyes widened in alarm. He tried to sit up and scramble away from Jack, to put enough distance between them to break the telepathic conduit. Before he could even sit up, however, Jack grasped him firmly and held him down, arms pinned above his head. He bucked and struggled, but only succeeded in making them both pant and shudder. Jack whispered words in his ear; desperate, intimate noises that made no sense but wrung from him _yes yes yes_. Then he was slowly wrapped in a hot, tight heat, rhythmic waves of pleasure that slammed through him until he was begging and pleading, meaningless sounds tumbling out of him. With his self-control a shambles, Jack slipped into his mind again–that sneaking tendril of light, winding deeper, grasping the desperate outstretched hand he hadn’t realized he’d extended.  
  
Jack blazed. He gasped, feeling the harshness rake across him, but Jack was still moving on him and it rode the fine edge between pain and pleasure, preventing him from slipping in too deep, constantly tugging him back to his body when his mind tried to drag Jack down.  
  
But he had to have him. He had to see him and hold him in the drifting currents where this would never stop, would exist beyond time and place.  
  
Jack was amazing, unique, and he wanted him–body, mind, and soul. Need overrode sense, and he ripped his hands free to hold Jack’s head, fingers snapping into place, pulling him down against him. He reached, grabbed, _yanked._  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
Hand gripping the Doctor’s wild hair, staring into the face of a confused, desperate man, he realized what the Doctor couldn’t or wouldn’t say–he was making do. As long as Jack still represented the possibility of what he really wanted, he wouldn’t let Jack go. His pride flared, unwilling to settle for crumbs. He wanted all or nothing.  
  
“Jack, please.”  
  
Damn. The Doctor asked, and Jack jumped. That’s how it worked, wasn’t it? He cursed himself roundly as his resistance evaporated, and there was as much anger as there was passion in his answering kiss.  
  
Fine. But if this was going to be some desperate last-chance shag, Jack was determined that it would be a very, very good one.  
  
Jack was caught off-guard by the Doctor’s unexpected enthusiasm, but in short order Jack had him whimpering and thrusting against his hand, still dressed but for his open trousers, tie dragging against Jack’s chest, face contorted in beautiful pleasure.  
  
In the midst of it he felt the push of the Doctor’s thoughts, but they were chaotic and messy, a far cry from the vast storm of before, and then with a very purposeful act of self-restraint, the Doctor pulled back. Before he could retreat physically as well as mentally, Jack pulled him close again, wringing another noise from him that made Jack bare his teeth in heated grin of triumph.  
  
Putting mouth and hands to best use, he took the Doctor to pieces bit by bit. While the Doctor was losing himself, Jack was only getting sharper, pushing and cajoling and angling for control, until the Doctor’s walls fell and Jack was engulfed in _confusionloveconflictpleadingbegging_. The feedback effect of his own need rolled through the Doctor, and Jack could see and feel the Doctor lose his last bit of restraint.  
  
He knew these steps. He wasn’t afraid. When he felt that first offer of the tantalizing flame, and it was no more overwhelming than the slide of sweaty skin, the bruising grip of the Doctor’s hand on his hip, or the waves of the Doctor’s consciousness that alternated between _please Jack don’t stop_ and _don’t leave me don’t leave me_ , he knew that it was only right to grab hold and dive in.  
  
He could do this. This was his last chance, and Jack would show the Doctor what he could do, what he could be–anything, everything. Whatever the Doctor wanted, he could be it.  
  
For a moment his vision wavered uncertainly; the body beneath him was at once the Doctor, and yet not; it beckoned to him, calling him out of his very orderly march of seconds following minutes following days. When it was nearly too much and threatened to drag him from his body, he settled on the Doctor, relaxing into a pressure and stretch that made him writhe in his own skin, but was sharp enough to anchor him again. Jack gripped the Doctor’s wrists tighter, rising and falling, and the feel and sound of the Doctor kept the balance. His sight would blur, his mind filled with unfamiliar and incomprehensible images, and then the thick slide of the Doctor in him would drag him back again.  
  
The Doctor was driving into him, utterly lost, and Jack was tipping over the edge when the Doctor seized him tightly, body and mind–a man he’d never really known, not like this, not this beautiful, endless creature in him and beneath him and everywhere around him…  
  
Only then did he realize he’d never really been in control at all.  
  
Contact.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
_Who are you?  
  
It’s me, Jack. Still the Doctor.  
  
I don’t understand.  
  
Look. This is who I am. This is all of me._  
  
Jack plucked at the strings of his existence, and the Doctor resonated with his touch, sounded out from his first regeneration to his last. There was no fight and fury, just simplicity. They basked in the light of each other. They were both blinding and luminous in the complexity of their existence; Jack stretched like a blanket across Time, touching everything with his infinite existence, and the Doctor was the weave to his weft, skipping across Time like a stone on a pond. They had, were, would and will be connect at so many points.  
  
_Thank you, Jack.  
  
I love you.  
  
I know. I don’t deserve it, I couldn’t possibly ever deserve it. But I know._  
  
It was simple. Easy. Why couldn’t everything be this easy?  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
_Time to go back, Jack_  
  
Jack heard the words, but couldn’t understand. How could it be time for anything, when that word had no meaning here?  
  
_Come on, Jack. Listen to me._  
  
The ghostly feel of fingers around his chest pulled at his attention. He tried to bat them away, but they were insistent. The presence of the Doctor surrounded him, a blanket that carefully wrapped him. He tried to bury himself in it, grasping handfuls and hanging on. He wouldn’t go.  
  
_Please. Please Jack, I can’t lose you. Not like this._  
  
He couldn’t find it in himself to worry. Not when he’d finally found the Doctor. Jack wouldn’t let him go ever again.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
It wasn’t until the Doctor tried to break the connection, eyes fluttering open, that he realized the uncomfortable, crushing pressure of Jack’s dead weight draped across him.  
  
“Jack?” he said, voice groggy. He stroked his hands through Jack’s hair and kissed his forehead. There was no response. His hand flew to Jack’s back, but it rose and fell with his breath, and the Doctor could feel Jack’s heartbeat drumming against his chest.  
  
He slipped his fingers over Jack’s temples and concentrated, calling out to Jack and reaching for him. Jack had gotten lost, marvelling in the wonder of the Doctor’s borrowed senses, burrowed deep in a long-forgotten bright corner of the Doctor’s soul. When he called again and Jack brushed him off, he grew worried. Jack had been so confident, so grounded–he’d been fine. When had he drifted so far?  
  
Shoving Jack’s body off him and rolling him onto the narrow table, the Doctor propped himself up. He reached into Jack’s mind once more, trying to drag him back, but Jack grabbed hold of him and tried to drag the Doctor back in. Panic started to creep in.  
  
“Jack. Jack!” he said, brushing back the damp hair from his face. The Doctor gave another hard tug, but Jack physically and mentally flinched, and he backed off. It helped, though–Jack’s eyes opened, but they were unfocused and looking far, far into the distance. “Hey, there you are!” He kept his voice calm and level, trying to coax a further reaction out of Jack. “Come on back, eh? Stay here. Stay here with me, it’s much nicer here.” He rested a hand on Jack’s chest and pressed until he could feel Jack’s thumping heart. “Feel that? That’s your body, your heartbeat. You need that. Can’t leave that behind.”  
  
Jack’s indistinct core shimmered brighter, like a ball of expanding light, taking shape. His Jack, made of light, drawn like a moth to the flame of the endless Vortex. Jack relaxed even more under his hand, and made a gentle humming noise, a voice to the song he was hearing, being swept away by. The Doctor grasped the light and pulled Jack close, restraining him from moving any further away.  
  
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, holding him still with his mind, despite the faint protest. “Come on, Jack, that’s the road for the Visionaries–crazy soothsayers and dreamtellers who get lost in there and never live in this world. That’s not for you and me, is it?” He grabbed Jack’s hand, held it to his own chest. “Time plodding along, that’s the human way. That’s what’s real for you–not just what you’re seeing right now, but this, here.” He thumped Jack’s hand against his chest again, and then brought both of Jack’s hands up to his face. “See? Can’t have one without the other.”  
  
Jack’s fingers moved against his face. “Doctor,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
The Doctor laughed in relief, desperately glad to hear Jack connect to his voice, his body, until Jack’s eyes drifted closed again. His fingers kept moving, tiny feathery movements, and his non-corporeal self did the same, faint tickling shivers that licked at the Doctor, distracting and pleasant.  
  
Jack was still drifting, more interested his mental explorations than rejoining the real world. The Doctor tried to ignore the pleasant shivers, focusing on Jack lying limp beneath him. “And how would you know that? Not that I don’t agree with you, I mean, hardly a question, right? But come on, you’re not even looking at me. And that’s not fair–I’m looking at you. Have to say, you’re a bit of alright yourself.” He tried to smile past the panic, to cajole a response out of Jack.  
  
“I can see everything,” Jack said dreamily. “You, me–it makes so much sense.”  
  
“I know, Jack. I know,” he said, battling despair. He kissed Jack’s slack lips, stroked his chest. “And that’s great, it’s brilliant–you’re brilliant,” he said, dropping small kisses all over his face. “But come back. Please come back.” He kissed Jack on the lips again, willing Jack to put himself together again. He would force him if he had to, but he wasn’t sure what the damage to Jack would be if he did.  
  
The tickling mental touch was less tentative now, and he was having trouble ignoring it and the waves of pleasure it sent through him. “Not fair, Jack,” he breathed against Jack’s mouth. “I’m trying to help you. Can’t do that if you’re distracting me.”  
  
But it wasn’t just the link between them. Jack was kissing him back, his hands now roaming on his sides, hot hands on his stomach, along his ribs, sliding lower. Despite himself his attention drifted momentarily, caught up in the movement of Jack’s mouth and hands.  
  
Jack finally broke the kiss, opening his eyes. The Doctor looked down at him, meeting his mercifully lucid gaze. The telepathic link was closed. Jack shifted against the Doctor and glanced down and back up again. “Doctor,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “This is a fantastic way to wake up.”  
  
He dropped his head to Jack’s shoulder, laughing giddily with the release of all his fear and tension. “You are insane. Completely insane.”  
  
Jack ran his hands along the Doctor’s side in long, gentle strokes. “Not so bad as all that.”  
  
The Doctor lifted his head, and Jack gazed back at him. Jack had a contented smile on his face, impossibly calm and passive under the Doctor’s inspection. The Doctor shifted one elbow beneath him so he could look down at Jack. “Do you understand what happened?”  
  
Jack lost himself in thought for a moment, hand still idly stroking along the Doctor’s skin, and then slowly nodded. “I wouldn’t say everything is clear.” He looked back up at the Doctor, running his fingers through the Doctor’s hair, pushing it back where it had fallen over his forehead. “But I do know that it was beautiful. You are beautiful. All of you.”  
  
He closed his eyes, swallowing against the complex swell of emotion. “Don’t scare me like that again. Alright?”  
  
“Alright,” Jack agreed with a nod. Then he glanced past him, and then around curiously. “Where are we?”  
  
The Doctor looked up, noticing their surroundings for the first time. “Oh. Chemistry lab.” He leaned across Jack and peered over the edge of the table. “Bollocks. That won’t be easy to replace.”  
  
Jack turned under him and followed his gaze to the pile of smashed tubing and equipment on the floor. He lay down again, giving the Doctor a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”  
  
The Doctor propped his head up, giving a shrug. “I can go back and steal it from myself. I’m sure causality will hold up to a little bit of equipment theft.” He squinted one eye, getting a faraway look, then nodded as intention became reality, and Time twisted and snapped accordingly. He looked over the edge of the table, and Jack followed his gaze. The equipment was gone, leaving only papers.  
  
“There. See?”  
  
Jack looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “Neat trick.”  
  
“All’s well as long as I remember to actually go back and do it.”  
  
Jack snorted, amused. Then he ran his hand along the Doctor’s flank, then teasingly along the back of his thigh. The Doctor drew a breath, startled by the simple touch. He blinked abruptly as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. His nudity, compromising position, and the fact that he had just shagged the socks off a dear friend–a _human_ friend–hit him. What exactly had he done in the pursuit of companionship?  
  
His unfocused alarm must have shown on his face, because Jack gripped his hand, clutching it. The Doctor looked down at him and met Jack’s serious gaze.  
  
“Please don’t run away. Not this time.”  
  
He paused, uncertain, but shook his head. “’Course not.” Crushing the faint, unsettling panic back into a corner of his mind, he lay down and tucked himself against Jack’s side. He focused instead on the memory of the Jack below the surface, bright as a beacon. He placed a hand on Jack’s chest, trying to find some sense of the light within. With the link between them established, he could sense the faintest pulse. The path between them had been built, for good or for ill.  
  
Jack’s arm tightened around him. “You alright?”  
  
“Yes.” And if he ignored the lopsided tattoo of Jack’s single heartbeat and the unfocused fear and guilt, it was more or less true.  
  
Jack relaxed his grip again, and his fingers moved anxiously along the Doctor's skin. "So, Cardiff–"  
  
“Cardiff can wait.” Jack was silent, and the Doctor closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Jack’s shoulder, willing Jack to understand. “You don't have to go. You could stay–if you want to, I mean.”  
  
Jack’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “Depends.”  
  
“Oh.” He strove to make his voice casual as he asked, “On what?”  
  
“Can we go somewhere sunny? I’ve had enough of Cardiff’s crap weather to last me at least a thousand years.”  
  
The Doctor snorted, and it turned into a full-throated laugh as the knot of tension in his chest eased. He lifted his head and caught Jack’s mischievous grin. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=46601>


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